


House of the Damned

by The_lazy_eye, tinyarmedtrex



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Animal Death, Claustrophobia, F/F, F/M, Just a host of bad shit, Kidnapping, Murder, Needles, Self-Mutilation, Torture, halloween fic, horror fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-08-04 03:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16339253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/pseuds/The_lazy_eye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyarmedtrex/pseuds/tinyarmedtrex
Summary: “I want to play a game. Your friends are all in other rooms, dealing with their own, personal horrors. Your game is to stay here, buried, and to wait for them. Hopefully they remember you and come looking. If not, you have enough air to survive for two hours. The test is on them to think of you during their own panic. I hope they’re as good of friends as you think. Your survival depends on it.” The recording cut and Richie was alone again. The silence was nearly deafening. All he could hear was his own labored breathing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to play a game. Your friends are all in other rooms, dealing with their own, personal horrors. Your game is to stay here, buried, and to wait for them. Hopefully they remember you and come looking. If not, you have enough air to survive for two hours. The test is on them to think of you during their own panic. I hope they’re as good of friends as you think. Your survival depends on it.” The recording cut and Richie was alone again. The silence was nearly deafening. All he could hear was his own labored breathing.

**Stan**

Stan woke up to the sound of a blaring alarm, something that sounded like a cross between a fire alarm and a national crisis alert. It made him shoot off the floor, pushing up with scrambling limbs to stand in his hazy confusion. Instead of the imminent danger he thought would surround him, he saw only a relatively normal room in front of him.

Well, it was normal if you’re used to be surrounded by birds in cages and literally nothing else. It was more unsettling than normal. The birds themselves were crowded in the cages, there were maybe a hundred of them or more. Some of them were common, blue jays and robins, but some of them were birds he’d never seen before. Some were rare birds he had only read about in books or seen on nature shows. They were the kinds of birds Stan wanted to travel to see some day. One he recognizes as an orange bellied parrot, native to Tasmania and on the World’s Rarest Birds list.

On the other side of the room, past the cages, he saw a simple, brown door. Relief flooded his system. Fuck the birds. Something didn’t feel right about this room.

He crossed quickly, weaving in and out of the cages in front of him. The closer he made it to the door the more desperate he felt. Something was not right with this room, or with this situation. How did he end up here? He didn’t remember anything before this that would make sense. The last thing he could remember was saying goodnight to his parents and climbing the steps to his room. Who put him here? He was obviously not asleep in his own bed anymore.

When he made it to the door he grabbed the handle, frantically pulling and twisting it. It wouldn’t budge. The most it gave him was a small wiggle before sticking, a telltale sign that this door was locked and he was trapped inside.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” he muttered to himself, words falling from his lips like a prayer. He turned around and pressed his back against the door before sweeping his eyes across the room in front of him. Why the fuck was he locked in a room with hundreds of birds in cages? What kind of sick game was this?

Just as he turned around, ready to throw himself against the door in an attempt to break the thing down, a deep voice sounded from above him.

“Hello Stanley. Do you want to play a game?”

_ Fuck _ . Stan blanched, horror creeping up into his body. He turned and started throwing his shoulder against the door. The dull thud of his body on the wood wasn’t enough to drown out the voice above him.

“I want to play a game. Don’t worry, it’s going to be fun. I promise.”

The voice above him spoke slowly, deliberately. Each word felt like a stab in Stan’s gut. The door still wouldn’t budge under his weight, but he kept throwing up body against it regardless.

“Look around you, Stanley. Inside this room I have placed something incredibly valuable to you.”

Stan did as he was instructed, pausing and turning back around. He looked over the room slowly. Birds were important to him. They were one of his favorite hobbies. But this didn’t make any sense. They weren’t his family, his friends, his religion. They were important, yes, but they weren’t  _ valuable _ .

“Your whole life has been nothing but careful observations of those around you. Never do you think to act. Never do you do what needs to be done. Inside one of these birds is a key to the door that will set you free. Now you must choose between taking action -”

“And what?” Stan yelled defiantly. Fuck this voice, what was it going to do? Kill him?

“And death.”

With that, the recording ended and panic flooded Stan’s system. Without thinking, he turned and ramed his shoulder against the door two more times before collapsing. He knew if he kept going he was more likely to hurt himself than take the door down but he didn’t know what else to do. How was he supposed to find the key? How was he supposed to know which bird had it? There were too many in here. And what was he supposed to do once he figured it out? Rip the bird open? He couldn’t do that. No. There had to be another way.

Stan spent more time than he wanted to sitting on the ground and staring out into the room. The birds in the cages before him flapped their wings and sang their songs. Absent tears rolled down his face as he watched them. He had to sit and choose between his life and theirs. If he wanted to live, he had to become recklessly violent. He contemplated running the clock out and seeing what would happen. If someone came through the door he could face them head on. Maybe he would win. But what if someone didn’t come through? What if he was gassed or shot or burned alive? What then?

The more time passed the clearer it became. He was going to have to kill these birds if he wanted to live.

**Ben**

Ben woke abruptly, realizing he wasn’t in his bedroom anymore. Instead he was lying on a cold, hard floor. He stood up, looking around the dirty white room that he was in. It reminded him of an old surgery room. The walls were a dingy white and the floor was made of discolored white tiles. The whole scene made him feel like he wanted to wash his hands. The room was empty except for a small surgical table that held a paper towel and a small scalpel. It was completely unfamiliar. He was confused to why he was there. The last thing he remembered was going to sleep in his dorm room. Was this some crazy prank that a fraternity was playing? Or something that Richie thought would be funny but was failing miserably? Whatever it was, he hated it and wanted to leave. Something about the room felt wrong. The heavy smell of disinfectant hung in the air barely covering another smell; one of rot and decay. 

As he looked around he saw a door. Grateful, he started to it, gasping as he took the first step. His stomach felt like it was on fire. Pulling up his shirt, he looked down, seeing a long jagged scar on his stomach. It looked like it had been cut days ago, and it was already healing over. 

“What the hell?” He whispered, gingerly touching the puffy, red line. He winced as he touched it. It was clearly recent and still tender. He tried to remember getting it but nothing came to mind. But it wasn’t the biggest problem he had at the moment. 

Walking to the door, he tried the knob which didn’t turn. He tried shaking it harder but it didn't budge. As he turned to look around the room again a recording started to play. 

“Hello Ben, do you want to play a game?”

Ben shook his head but the recording didn’t notice. The deep, computerized voice continued. “Too long have you fed that enormous gut, eating and consuming without a thought for the consequences. Now, years of gluttony have finally caught up with you. To survive you’ll have to cut into your tender flesh and find the key that opens the door to your freedom. If you do this, you’ll have a new appreciation for life and food. Maybe one day you’ll come to understand and thank me. You have one hour.”

Ben looked in horror from the speaker to his stomach, shaking his head as he fell to the floor. This couldn’t be real. It had to be some terrible prank, some elaborate lie designed to scare him. This didn’t happen to people in real life. 

Ben was a good person, he didn’t hurt anyone. He gave to charity when he could. Yes, he enjoyed desserts and chips but that wasn’t a crime. He looked down at his gut. Bev had always told him it was cute, that she like being able to use him as a pillow and heating pad. He had tried to lose weight he really had but- no, he shook his head. He refused to believe that a few extra cookies meant he deserved this. Thinking of Bev reminded him how dire the situation was. His breakdown had already cost him nearly ten minutes. The blinking red clock in the corner was more than happy to count down his remaining time. 

He again looked at the thin scalpel on the table, knowing he had only one option. 

**Bev**

The first thing she became aware of was the cold, hard floor her body was pressed uncomfortably against. It registered in the back of her head the same way a toothache registers after coming off of novocaine at the dentist. She opened her eyes slowly, bright light overwhelming her senses as she attempted to blink the sleep out of her eyes.

The second thing she became aware of was a table in the center of the room. From her place on the floor Bev couldn’t see what, if anything, was on top of it but it was there. Clear as day.

The third thing she was aware of was the fact that she was not alone. Across the room, chains around her ankles, was an older woman with fiery hair much like her own. Who the woman was didn’t register immediately to Bev, all she could do was wonder what the fuck is going on.

This wasn’t where she fell asleep, not by a long shot. She was not in the arms of her boyfriend, snuggled together in his bed with movies playing quietly in the background. She wasn’t wrapped up in warm, soft blankets with his comforting arms wrapped around her. She was in a room with some woman and no recollection of how she got there.

“Hello Beverly. Let’s play a game, shall we?”

A deep, unrecognizable voice boomed from above her. In her confusion she almost thought it came from the body on the other side of the room. Was she even alive? Bev had no clue.

“Your parents have constantly let you down. You father abuses you and your mother lets it happen. The ones who are supposed to love and protect you have caused you harm and fear and instead of reaching out for help, you simply let it happen. I have graciously given you the opportunity to seek retribution. In this room I have locked you and your mother. You have one hour to kill her and take vengeance or you both will die.”

As soon as the recording cut out Bev was on her feet. The woman in the room with her was her mother and she had to check on her. She had to be okay.

“Mom! Mom, please,” Bev cried, dropping to her knees next to her mother and shaking her. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this was happening. “Mom, you have to wake up. Please.”

Elfrida Marsh groaned, slowly rolling her head to the side and looking up at her daughter.

“Bevvie? Darling? Where are we?” her voice came out dry and hoarse. It made tears well up in Bev’s eyes and she folded over, curling into her mother’s chest. “Don’t cry, Bevvie. Tell mommy what’s wrong?”

Bev couldn't answer. She only sobbed harder, her tears soaking her Elfrida’s blouse. This was her mother in front of her. They were the same flesh and blood. Without her, Bev wouldn’t exist at all. Yes, maybe she made some mistakes in her life but who hadn’t? It’s nothing she deserved to die for.

When Bev finally calmed down enough to speak the clock on the wall read 47:04. Her mother, patient as ever, simply ran her hands over Bev’s back in an attempt to comfort her daughter. She looked down at Bev, eyes rimmed red and cheeks blotchy.

“Bev, honey. What’s going on?”

Bev’s shoulders automatically started shaking before she spoke. “We’re trapped, mom, we’re gonna die in an hour.”

**Mike**

Mike sat up, looking around the long narrow room that he was in. He was instantly uneasy. He didn’t recognize the place and knew he hadn’t brought himself here. He jumped to his feet, ready to fight whoever was near, whoever had done this but there was no one else there, it was just him. 

As he stood he realized that he was in a smaller room, cut off from the rest of the hallway. There was a glass wall separating him from the hall. He could see the outline of a door in the glass and tried to push it open but it didn’t budge. 

He spun around, feeling like he was being watched. Sure enough, there was a small camera in the high corner of the room trained on him. 

He walked over to it, giving it the middle finger and saying, “Hello? What the fuck is this? You can’t just keep me here! This is 2018 not the fucking 1950s!” 

“Do you want to play a game Michael?” The recorded voice made him jump, but what actually scared him was the flames that appeared on the other side of the glass barricade. They rose from nowhere, licking to the ceiling and towards him. He could feel the instant heat from them and drew back, horrified. 

“Years ago your parents died in a fire while you sat by and did nothing. Your weakness and fear paralyzed you Michael and they suffered for it. I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself. Simply go through the fire. You’ll see a path that is, largely, safe. On the other side of the fire is a door. Reach that and you’ll be free, with a new appreciation for life and all it has to offer. You have one hour.” 

The recording cut off and Mike stared into the flames. His mouth had gone dry and he was shaking from fear.  He had been scared of fire since that day, years ago. All he could see was his parents, screaming for him to help. But, much like so many years ago, he was frozen to the spot, unable to move. Everything felt numb, even as the heat from the fire grew warmer and closer. The fire terrified him, thick red and orange limbs reached for him, trying to grab him. But the glass protected him. He was safe in here. Safe from the fire and the heat it brought. 

Mike scurried to a corner, watching the flames dance and twist. He could only hear his parents screams and his own labored breathing. He didn't notice the time ticking down. He didn’t notice as it flashed 40 minutes, then 20 and finally 0. He didn’t notice as gas filled the room and he slowly suffocated. He didn’t notice any of it. 

**Eddie**

Nothing seemed to make sense but at the same time it didn’t really matter. The ground was so soft under his skin. He was so comfortable. The sun was shining bright, warming his skin. There was no place he’d rather be than right here, between his friends and in his boyfriend’s lap. If he looked up he knew he would see Richie looking around at their friends or maybe down at him. There would be that glint of light off of his glasses and that crooked smile on his face. 

“Edward. It’s time to wake up. I want to play a game.”

The rough, low voice boomed around him shaking him out of his thoughts. What the fuck? When he looked around no one seemed phased. Bev and Stan were angled toward each other, having some distant conversation Eddie couldn’t quite hear. Mike was picking flowers and Ben was lounging back. It was like no one heard what he heard. Maybe he was just lost in his own thoughts, floating somewhere high above his friends and that’s why he heard it. 

Instead of exploring it, Eddie opted for ignoring it. The bliss that followed was too good to pass up. He was so comfortable, so soothed in Richie’s arms that it was almost as if nothing in the world could ever get to him. He was safe here. 

“Your whole life your mother has made you out to be a frail, sick boy and you believed her.”

There it was again, booming above him and shaking him to his core. No one else moved, all caught up in their own bliss to notice. How could they not notice? Eddie couldn’t ignore it this time. 

“Richie. Hey, babe, did you hear that?” Eddie asked, shifting off of his boyfriend’s lap to bring himself to eye level. Richie didn’t answer, he simply kept his head turned to the side looking out to god knows where. “Baby?”

Suddenly Richie’s head snapped forward, eyes locking with Eddie’s in a way that could only be described as sinister. 

“Even after you found the truth you let her lie and manipulate you. You never once had the guts to defend yourself. Now is your chance for redemption.”

Eddie shot up off the ground. He was not with his friends on a grassy hill. Richie was not with him. He was all alone in a big, fucked up room and was all disoriented. 

“On the other side of this room is two pills: one will save you, one will end your life. You have one hour to cross the room and take your medicine. Choose wisely.”

Across the room on the wall Eddie could see a large clock begin to count down. He wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen when the timer hit zero but he knew he wasn’t going to be in here to find out. 

Crossing shouldn’t be too hard, right? Shakily, Eddie rose to his feet to get a better look at the room around him. And naturally, why would anything ever be easy?

Littering the floor in front of him was hundreds of used needles, scalpels, scissors, forceps, all kinds of medical equipment. They were sitting in pools of blood and gore, some of it was smeared and dried on the floor as if someone was crawling through it, trying to get away. 

Eddie could feel his chest constricting and his breath shortening. Whose blood was that? Where were his friends? Why was he here? Oh god, was the blood his friends’ blood? Oh god,  _ was it Richie’s? _

**Richie**

Richie woke up, gasping and coughing painfully. He tried to sit up but couldn’t, his forehead slammed into something above him nearly instantly. Everything around him was pitch black, he couldn’t see anything, it felt like he was being swallowed by darkness. 

“Hello Richie.” The voice startled him, it was like someone was speaking directly behind him but that was impossible. He felt behind him, feeling a small speaker near his shoulder. 

“I want to play a game. Your friends are all in other rooms, dealing with their own, personal horrors. Your game is to stay here, buried, and to wait for them. Hopefully they remember you and come looking. If not, you have enough air to survive for two hours. The test is on them to think of you during their own panic. I hope they’re as good of friends as you think. Your survival depends on it.” The recording cut and Richie was alone again. The silence was nearly deafening. All he could hear was his own labored breathing. 

“What? No, no no. Fuck. No.” He started to feel around with his fingers. Too soon, they met the edges of his confines. He was in a long box, he could feel the wood and splinters with his fingers. It was small and narrow, he couldn’t even turn to his side on it. 

He knew what it was, even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

A coffin. He was in a coffin. 

He started to hyperventilate, pounding at the top and screaming, “Help! Someone! Fuck!” But all that accomplished was to cause dirt to rain down on him. He sputtered,coughing it up and spitting it out. He felt it hit his face and realized, to his growing dismay, that he didn't have his glasses. Not that it mattered now, he couldn’t see shit, but it was another blow, another thing that weakened him. 

His fingers felt around again, searching for anything to grab, any sign of weakness. He felt a small string near his other shoulder and pulled it, hearing a bell ring in the space above him. He kept pulling it, crying out for his friends to rescue him, for someone to remember him and come looking for him. 

Tears streaked down his cheeks as he kept feebly pounding at the box, praying that someone could hear him. He had no idea where he was or how deep he was buried. He couldn't mark the passage of time. He was stuck, buried alive until his friends found him. All he could do was hope that they wouldn’t be too late. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to tinyarmedtrex and I's halloween horror project! If there's anything you see at any point that you believe should be tagged please reach out either in the comments or directly to one of us. 
> 
> tinyarmedtrex.tumblr.com and reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dry sob escaped his lips and a shudder rolled through his body as the bird fell to the ground at his feet. Oh god, what has he done? He took a life, the innocent life of a bird. It did nothing wrong except be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
> 
> Before he could let the guilt of what he’d done take him over he reached toward the cage, snapped a bar off of it, and bent down to the bird’s lifeless body. Using the bar, Stan carved the chest of the bird, tearing it open and spilling blood all over his hands. He blinked the tears blurring his vision away and continued to work through his sobs. When he was done there was no key inside.
> 
> The clock read 35:29 on the wall.

**Stan**

Shakily, Stan got to his feet. On the wall he could see a clock with big, red numbers reading  _ 41:53, 41:52, 41:51 _ . He was losing time and he knew it. The key could be in any one of the birds. He walked toward the first cage he saw which was filled with beautiful swallows, their coats beautiful blues and oranges that danced in the fluorescent light from above.

He hiccuped once as he reached for the cage, lifting the door and sliding it open. The swallows didn’t move to escape, they simply stared at him, cocking their heads in either direction as he reached in. One jumped onto his hand, startling him out of his thoughts. He gently pulled it out of the cage, admiring its beauty and grace. The puffy white feathers on its chest ruffled as it chirped softly. Without thinking Stan reached up and softly grabbed its head before twisting his hands and quickly snapping the bird neck.

A dry sob escaped his lips and a shudder rolled through his body as the bird fell to the ground at his feet.  _ Oh god, what has he done? _ He took a life, the innocent life of a bird. It did nothing wrong except be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Before he could let the guilt of what he’d done take him over he reached toward the cage, snapped a bar off of it, and bent down to the bird’s lifeless body. Using the bar, Stan carved the chest of the bird, tearing it open and spilling blood all over his hands. He blinked the tears blurring his vision away and continued to work through his sobs. When he was done there was no key inside. 

The clock read 35:29 on the wall.

When the shock of killing and disemboweling the first bird wore off, Stan made quick work of the others. He moved through the swallows, the finches, the larks. The closer the clock got to 00:00 the more frantic he became. He hadn’t stopped crying since he began. His pants and shirt became soaked in the blood of his victims as he moved through the room. Blood was splattered up his arms, over his face, in his hair. He knew he was never going to be able to wash it off him.

Just as he was beginning to feel hopeless, as though all of this senseless violence is for nothing, he came to the cage that housed the orange bellied parrot he saw when he woke up. She sat before him in all of her beauty and wonder. Stan distantly thought she is the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and deep, deep inside of him he knew what to do. She would be the last to die in this room. If she didn’t have the key, Stan promised to sit and wait for his time to come. He would face the reaper and atone for the sins he had committed in this room.

Stan reached into her cage, taking her gently from her post and holding her close to his chest. She sang a song so beautiful that Stan almost didn’t do it. He hesitated, taking in her gentle sounds and humming along with her notes. Then, as suddenly as she started she stopped and a sickening crack filled the room. He didn’t wait, he cut her open and rooted around inside of her for the key.

Lucky for him, it was there.

Stan scrambled to his feet and rushed to the other side of the room. Halfway there he slipped on the blood, crashing down and watching as the key slid from his hands and under one of the cages near the door. He was running on nothing but pure fear and adrenaline when he crawled toward it, hands and knees sliding on the slick floor. He grabbed the underside of the cage and flipped it, sending it topping to the ground and filling the room with the sounds of terrified shrieks and squawks.

He grabbed it and scrambled to the door, shoving the key inside and turning the handle before stumbling out into the bright, white light.

**Ben**

Ben finally forced himself to rise to his feet, knowing that he had to do this to survive. Many minutes- more than he cared to consider- had passed and he realized that all this was real, that he would actually need to cut himself open in order to leave this room. Just thinking about it made him want to vomit but there wasn’t another option. The room was sealed shut and he had already used twenty minutes waiting. 

He picked up the small instrument, turning it in his hand as he examined the puckered wound.  Exhaling, he put the blade to his stomach, drawing the start of a thin line across himself. He bit back a sob as blood welled. 

“You can do this.” He told himself. “You have to.” He thought about Bev. He had to to this if he wanted to see her again- if he wanted to see anyone again. 

He continued cutting, ignoring the blood that pooled and dripped to the floor. After several minute he cut a long line the length of the incision. Now the hard part. With a trembling hand he touched where the flesh parted, letting out a wail of pain. He prodded along the cut but, to his utter dismay, realized that he hadn’t cut deep enough. He hadn’t gotten through all the layers of skin. He glanced at the clock. Nearly forty minutes had already passed. He needed to hurry. 

“Fuck, no, fuck.” He tried to push his stubby fingers in but it was no use, the cut just wasn’t deep enough. He let out a sob of pain and frustration, trying to ignore the time as it ticked closer to 0. 

After letting out a shaky sob he raised the knife, jabbing himself and cutting deeper into his skin. He cried out from the pain, eventually biting his bottom lip and trying to focus on anything else but all he could think about was the sharp sting as the knife cut him and the alarming blood loss. The room started to blur as he slid the knife further along. His vision was hazy from the tears and ache that spread through him. He nearly gave up several times. Only the thought of Bev and his friends got him through. He couldn’t die in this room, no one would ever find him here. They’d never know what happened to him. 

Finally, he was certain that he had cut through the skin and could access the key. If not, he would have to give up. He could barely hold the knife anymore in his shaking hand. Closing his eyes, he pushed his hand past his skin and into his stomach. He nearly passed out from the pain but made himself feel around for the small metal key. 

He was heaving, nearly vomiting, when he finally felt it. Pulling it out, he let out a shaky laugh. It was full of blood and gore but it was definitely a key. Wobbling, he walked to the door and slipped the bloody key in it. He missed twice, worn from the trauma and blood loss. 

He finally got the door open and fell into the other room, seeing that Stan was standing in it, looking around. 

“Ben?” He cried, rushing over. It was the last heard Ben saw before he passed out. 

**Bev**

Thirty more minutes passed and they’d gotten nowhere. Elfrida insisted that there must be a way out but Bev wouldn’t budge. She didn’t let her mother know that there was any kind of way out of this room that she knew of. They’d spent their time together talking, trying to conjure up a plan to escape. Bev had tried to snap the chains, break the door down, and punch through the walls. They’d seen no results other than a broken hand and more wasted tears. No matter what they do the clock kept ticking.

“Bev, what about the table? There’s got to be a reason it’s in here,” Elfrida tried, motioning to the metal legs in front of her. Elfrida had been unable to stand but in Bev’s attempts to get out of the room she had seen what lay on it.

In the center of the table there was a single, loaded pistol.

“No, mom. There’s nothing on there,” Bev said, anxiety creeping its way into her voice. The more time they wasted the closer the clock got to zero and they both die. There had to be another way out of this. She knew she couldn’t do the unthinkable. Despite what her mother had done, Bev knew she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to kill her. She may have turned a blind eye to her husband’s abuse but there were bigger sins in the world. Like actually abusing someone.

Bev knew in the deepest, darkest parts of her mind that if her father was in here with her she would have pulled the trigger by now.

She became so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t noticed when her mother grabbed the legs of the table, pulling it toward her and tipping it over in the process. The pistol hit the ground and slid between them both.

“Mom! What are you doing?”

“A gun,” Elfrida started. Her eyes were wide with shock, her mouth dropped open. “Bev, there’s a gun in here!” Before Bev could stop her Elfrida picked the gun up and held it before carefully turning it over and popping the cylinder out. “There’s only one bullet.”

Bev didn’t answer. She wouldn’t even look at her mother. She kept her eyes downcast, finding the floor much more interesting than the dawning look of realization on Elfrida’s face. On the wall, the clock read 09:43.

“I think I know what will unlock that door,” Elfrida said after a moment of silence. Bev’s head finally snapped up, eyes filled with horror as her mother connected the final dots. “This bullet is for me, isn’t it?”

“Mom, no. You can’t _. I won’t _ ,” Bev choked on her words, new tears welling up in her eyes as she crossed the room slowly back to her mother.

“We have to, sweetheart.”

Elfrida raised the gun, aware of her daughter’s resistance to the truth. Before she could pull the trigger Bev launched across the room, grabbing her mother’s arm and yanking. A deafening sound filled the empty air and in the scuffle Bev thought maybe she’d gone deaf. The ringing in her ears was too loud to hear anything else. She wasn’t aware that her mother was talking, screaming at her until she looked up from her spot on the floor and saw her mouth moving, eyes a frantic and wild sight. Bev read the word  _ why _ on Elfrida’s lips several times before her hearing started to fade back in.

The clock on the wall kept ticking down and Bev knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she has sealed their fates. Elfrida knew, too, because she was scooping Bev off the floor and bringing her into the cradle of her lap. There was nowhere to go and soon there would be no time left.

Bev felt the wet warmth of her mother’s tears soaking into her hair as she rocked her daughter back and forth on the cold floor. They stayed like that, whispering  _ I love you _ ’s and  _ I’m sorry _ ’s to each other as the end approached.

When the clock clicked 00:00 on the wall the room suddenly plunged into darkness and Bev understood what it means to feel everything and nothing all at once.

**Eddie**

The panic crept into his chest, seizing his lungs and causing him to lurch forward and vomit on the floor. It only added to the mess of gore, grime, and germs he was surrounded by. He became dimly aware of the fact that he was barefoot, just adding to the risk of injury and infection. Of course, that’s what this sick freak wanted. There was no way he was going to be able to cross. 

One thing kept him going in the midst of his panic. On the other end, right in his line of sight, was Eddie’s saving grace, his lighthouse in this nightmare: a door. 

If he could get to that door everything would be okay. 

He thought back to the words of the recording. This was a test of his strength, his guts, something he lacked more than he wanted to admit. But if he could do this, if he could move through the piles of body parts and cross the room he could have his freedom. Isn’t that what the tape said? Now was his chance. 

Shakily, Eddie crept his feet forward. His feet never once lifted off the ground, they only slid closer and closer to his waking nightmare. He paused in front of the thin beginnings of blood, taking a deep breath and edging his toes in. 

It wasn’t warm like he thought it would be. It felt like ice on his toes. How long had it been here? How long had these people been dead?

He kept pushing, sliding gently into the masses and trying to slowly navigate as to avoid the sharp, deadly items that were strewn about. He lost himself in his concentration. 

It was taking him longer than he wanted it to. When he looked up he could see he was rapidly losing time. He only had roughly a half hour left to make it and he wasn’t as far as he needed to be. He pressed forward, moving quicker and risking picking his feet up. His feet and his pants up to the shins were soaked with the blood of people he would never know, or maybe once did know. He tried not to think about who they might be but he couldn’t help it. 

The distraction proved to be his downfall. In his haste, Eddie stepped on an arm, sliding on the bone and falling to the ground. He put his arms out in a desperate attempt to catch himself but the ground was too slick and they slid out from under him.

He landed on more tools than he wanted to. Scalpels cut through his pants, slicing his legs and his left arm landed on a surgical saw. The gash was deep, Eddie would later find out it went down to the bone. That didn’t register to him, though. The pain in his arm was nothing compared to the pain in his eye. His lack of control caused him to fall face first onto a needle that was placed at just the right angle. Eddie could feel the sharp stick of it through the tender flesh of his eyelid and into his eye, blinding him on the right side. 

The scream was deafening. His blood was mixing with the dead’s beneath him. He withered on the floor, desperately reaching up with his good arm to pull the needle out. He knocked it twice, digging it around in his socket, before he was able to grab it. The feeling that came with the withdrawal of the needle felt like someone had set the entire right half of his face on fire. 

It was excruciating. It hurt so fucking bad that Eddie wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to go on. He couldn’t see it but he could feel the blood and other fluids running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. 

For a moment, he forgot what he was doing at all. He just laid on the floor trying to fight the pain he felt all over his body. The stinging in his legs, the burning in his face, the aching numbness in his arm. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there trying to fight the pain but it was long enough to become dizzy, blood loss beginning to take its toll. This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to die here. 

Somehow, Eddie managed to push himself up on his arms. He could barely see through the pain but he knew the clock on the wall was ticking down closer and closer to his avoidable fate. No, this wasn’t how it was going to end. Eddie crawled, grasping the floor with one arm and kicking out with his legs. He was making slow progress but it was faster than when he standing. He was becoming more and more desperate as the minutes ticked on. 

He could faintly make out the legs of the table near the door coming closer and the 03:09 on the wall above him. When he reached it he grabbed the top with his good arm, using it to help pull his mangled body off the floor. He stood on uneven, bleeding legs and looked down at the final obstacle. There were two pills sitting on the table. Nothing else. There was no indication of which pill would kill him and which would set him free. 

He didn’t have time to think, though. It felt like the clock was doubling, tripling in its efforts to get to zero. He had less than a minute to go and it was a 50/50 shot of certain death. 

Eddie closed his eye before reaching out and blindly grabbing one off the table. He thought about the state he was in and whether or not his friends would even be on the other side. Would death really be so bad?

**Richie**

Richie couldn’t breath. He was pounding on the box, knocking more dirt and dust into his mouth and he couldn’t breath. His vision was blurring, spots in his eyes and he couldn’t tell if they were from lack of oxygen or fear. Not that it mattered, both terrified him. 

He knew what a panic attack looked like, he had been with Eddie long enough to recognize the signs. Chest tightening, blinding panic, trouble sucking air into his lungs. But god, he had never expected the fear, the way his brain shouted at him to  _ escape, to GET OUT _ somehow, even if it hurt him in the process. As long as he saw the sun again it would be worth it. 

Part of his brain, the small part that was still rational, told him that he needed to relax, that he was using up the small amount of air he had by hyperventilating. 

The reminder made the rest of him panic even more. He started screaming again, hoping that someone would hear him. They wouldn’t forget him would they? He thought, desperately pounding on the planks. They couldn’t. 

After a few minutes he stopped. His voice was raw and his limbs ached. There was nothing he could do to escape. He was going to die in this fucking box. He tried to remember the last thing he told Eddie. He hoped to god it was ‘I love you’ and not some dumbass pun or a ‘your mom’ joke. But Eddie knew right? Eddie knew that Richie loved him. He had to. 

A realization hit Richie then. Was Eddie here too? He could handle himself being hurt. He could deal with that. But the thought came crashing down on him that his friends might be here too. And Eddie. His Eddie. Not Eddie. 

He pounded and kicked with renewed vigor but nothing happened except a few half hearted creeks in the wood. 

“Fuck.  _ Fuck _ .” He said, finally giving up the fight for good. He felt a wetness on his cheeks and realized he was crying. He had no idea how much time had passed. How much air did he have left? As he considered it it seemed like the air surrounding him grew thinner. He resisted the urge to gulp it down, forcing himself to breath slowly through his nose. 

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Eddie had been making him meditate in the mornings and he tried to do that, clearing his mind and focusing only on breathing.

Until a far away sound pulled him out of it. 

**Bill**

Bill heard a faint whisper in his ear, like someone calling his name. 

“Hello?” He called out, opening his eyes and looking around. He was a bed that wasn’t his own, in a room he didn’t recognize. It reminded him of something from a movie he’d seen, a long time ago, about escaped mental patients and the horrors they caused. The bed was similar to an old fashioned hospital bed, with a scratched metal frame and lumpy mattress.  The room was plain and undecorated, painted a dull gray. One wall was broken up by a large metal door. 

Standing, he walked to it and opened it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn we are hella overwhelmed by how much everyone liked Chap 1. Thank you so much!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They love me, they wouldn’t forget about me. They love me.” He brought a hand up to wipe his tears, barely able to in the confined space. 
> 
> He was starting to accept it. Richie Tozier, age 22, found dead in a coffin. The irony wasn't lost on him. At least they could save on funeral arrangements. No one bought used coffins, right?

**Stan**

It was chaos. Absolute chaos. Stan had thought his situation was bad but when Ben tumbled out of his own door, blood gushing from his stomach and drenching his pants, he knew he had it easy. He had run to Ben, pressing his hands over the wound and desperately trying to stop the bleeding. He felt useless. His own blood was running cold as Ben, fucking _Ben_ laid under him, unresponsive.

He didn’t know how long he was kneeling there, pressing (a cloth? His hand?) against Ben and screaming at him to wake up. Fresh tears were rolling down his face. The only thing he knew was that Ben was still breathing. There was a gentle, shallow rise and fall of his chest as Stan bunched up his shirt and tried to soak up the mess.

He didn’t even really hear the other door open until he felt warm, wet hands on his shoulder. He looked over to see Eddie in even worse shape that Ben was. Dark, thick blood covered the side of his face, his arms, and his pants. Stan could see the way his skin split open, the white fat of his flesh giving way to the clotting blood around the cuts and gashes on his body. His face was the worst though. There was swollen, ruined skin where his right eye should have been. The right side of his face was caked in blood and other fluids. Stan didn’t stare long enough to really see what had happened. The sight alone made his stomach turn.

“Stan,” Eddie rasped, fingers gripping his shoulders like tiny vices. Stan watched as Eddie pushed him to the side. He lifts Ben’s shirt weakly before motioning to Stan. “Help me get his shirt off.”

Stan does. Together, they manage to get the shirt off and Stan watched as Eddie slipped it back under Ben and brought the ends back around to his front. “Help me.”

Together, they tied the shirt as tight as they could.

“I think that should work,” Eddie said, voice still thin and wheezing. “It’s the best we have right now.”

Stan didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at Ben either. He couldn’t. Not with the whirlwind of thoughts going through his head. He had just survived his own torture maze to find both of his friends bloodied and near death. What the fuck. What the fuck was happening.

He could feel his breathing picking up. Tears that had never really stopped falling felt hot against his face again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see tear tracks clearing the grime off of Eddie’s own skin. He felt, not so much saw, Eddie reach out towards him and gently lace their hands together. The only sounds in the room were the gentle hiccups in their own breathing.

That is, until another the sound of a metal on metal creaked through the corridor.

Slowly, Stan turned to see none other than Bill Denbrough standing in a doorway. Bill Denbrough, like himself, was miraculously unharmed. He wore an expression of confusion and horror on his face as he scanned the room in front of him. The various trails of blood, the beaten and bloody boys in in the center of it.

Bill, however, unlike the other three was as clean as a whistle. There wasn’t so much as one piece of clothing out of place on his body. Stan couldn’t make sense of it. All he could hear was the sound of the recording, the whistles of his birds, the snaps of bones in his hands. His own arms were covered in the blood of his victims, the blood of his two friends. Bill, on the other hand, looked as though he had a full night’s sleep. He looked like he didn’t spend the past hour trying to outrun his own death.

He walked out of his room just fine while three of their other friends were still missing.

Stan felt himself rising to his feet. At the same time Bill looked like he was about to rush forward, Stan felt something rise up in him. Something hot, something feral, something _scared_.

Before he could move, though. Before he even took a step forward, Bill was screaming out. Voice booming and eyes wide.

“Guys! What the fuck is happening!”

He rushed forward, hands gripping Stan’s forearms as he looked him over once before shifting his gaze beyond Stan to their two friends on the ground.

“What happened? Is Ben dead? Where is Richie, Bev, and Mike? Eddie, what the fuck happened to you?”

The questions came out in rapid fire. The frantic look in Bill’s eyes contradicted the steady sound of his voice. It all but pulled Stan out of his haze. Bill was here, unharmed, and asking the kinds of questions he should have been asking from the start. Bill, their fearless leader, their number one. He was here. They’d beat the devil with Bill once before. They could do anything together.

For the first time, he spoke.

“Bill, what the fuck is happening?”

**Richie**

Richie was exhausted. His arms and legs ached from kicking and punching the walls. His voice was hoarse from screaming. He’d given up trying to meditate after only a few minutes- he thought, he had no way to measure the passage of time in here. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, how long he had left.

As if on cue the voice started again.

“Richie, it looks like your friends have forgotten about you. Maybe they never cared in the first place. You only have five minutes left of air. I’ve heard that suffocation is one of the worst ways to die. You’ll have to tell me if you agree while you take your last gasping breaths.”

“No, no, no.” He whimpered, feeling tears streaming down his face again. “Stan, Bill, Eddie, please. Please find me. Bev, Mike, Ben, you wouldn’t forget about me.” He knew that talking was wasteful but even now, in the last moments of his life, it seemed that Richie Tozier didn’t know when to shut up.

“They love me, they wouldn’t forget about me. They love me.” He brought a hand up to wipe his tears, barely able to in the confined space.  

He was starting to accept it. Richie Tozier, age 22, found dead in a coffin. The irony wasn't lost on him. At least they could save on funeral arrangements.  No one bought used coffins, right? He sniffled, feeling a weariness overtake his body. The air was getting thinner, he could tell now. There was no escape now, no reason to fight anymore. Richie didn’t even have the energy to try to think of a funny pose for people to find him in. Who knew if anyone would ever see it anyway.

He closed his eyes, planning to let himself drift off into the final sleep but then, as he did, he heard familiar voices in the distance. Scrambling for the bell he began ringing it frantically, praying they’d hear him - and soon.

**Bill**

“Bill, what the fuck is happening?”

Stan asked the question in such a panic that for a minute Bill didn’t know how to respond. Two of his friends were seriously injured. Three were missing and Bill couldn’t move. Stan was staring at him like he should know, like he should have the answers but he didn’t.

Bill opened his mouth, ready to say something that was hopefully inspiring, but at that moment two things happened. The first was Ben groaning loudly and sitting up, looking pale enough that Bill was worried.

The second thing was that the doors they had come from all snapped shut and a new one opened. Stan’s eyes snapped from the new door to Ben to Bill, still silently asking him what to do.

“We go through the door,” Bill said with as much authority as he could. “Maybe the others are in there.”

Stan nodded, seeming relieved that someone made a decision. Bill knelt over Ben, “Can you walk?” He asked, extending a hand. Ben nodded, pulling heavily on Bill as he stood. The shirt seemed to have staunched the blood so at least he wasn’t losing more. It was only a small comfort though. Ben and Eddie both looked awful. Bill knew they would need medical attention soon or… he shook his head, refusing to think about it.

The group walked slowly into a new space, Stan guiding Eddie and Bill helping Ben. Bill was surprised to see that they were outside, in a narrow outdoor space. They were still surrounded by tall gray walls on all sides, nothing to give them any hints as to where they were. Bill saw several lumps of dirt, all looking freshly turned.

Then he heard it. A small jingling noise. He saw Stan look around, he had clearly heard it too. He was about to ask what it was when he heard a faint, muffled noise. He craned to hear, it sounded like someone yelling.

“That’s Richie!” Eddie cried, looking around frantically. “Where is he?” He spun around, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from and then dashed off, still holding his eye. Stan ran after him and Bill started moving as fast as he could with Ben.

“Just go, I’ll catch up. Get Richie.” Ben finally said, waving him off. Bill didn’t waste another second running to join his friends.

He caught them standing over a grave, a small bell above it jingling, bouncing so much it was nearly falling off the chain. He could hear Richie now, screaming for them to help. Eddie and Stan were already on the ground, tearing at the dirt with their hands.

**Eddie**

Eddie’s mind went into overdrive. He didn’t feel this way in his room or when he was bandaging Ben up. He couldn’t even feel the ache in his skin anymore. Normally, he’d be itching to clean the grime and gore off of himself by now but the only think he itched for was the feel of Richie’s hands in his own. He needed to know he was safe. He needed to see Richie in front of him, intact and breathing. Stan was caked in god knows what and Ben was split open and anything could have happened to Richie.

He couldn’t bear the thought of it. Richie split wide open. Richie caked in blood. Richie’s eyes gouged out.

Eddie dug. He felt the soil build under his nails. He felt the cold rocks on his palms. The squish of the dirt between his fingers. He was dimly aware of the two other boys digging beside him. He heard someone chanting   _please, please, please,_ but he didn't know who it was. Hell, maybe it was himself. All he could focus on was digging and the way that Richie’s voice seemed to get louder. The screams, the way he called all their names out. The growing sounds of thuds.

“We’re coming baby, we’re coming. I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. We’re coming, Richie.”

“Bill! Eddie! Bev! Please! Oh god, please! Help me!”

Eventually, his fingers hit something solid. He scrambled, desperately pushing the dirt to the side to uncover more. It was wood and his fingers knocked against it as they tried to clear as much dirt off of it as they could. It sounded hollow and he could feel the vibrations from Richie’s own efforts. The three of them doubled their efforts, throwing dirt everywhere until they had the entire top cleaned off.

“Bill!” Eddie cried, “We have to get him out!”

“I know,” Bill shot back. His voice echoed something harsh but Eddie didn’t pay any attention. The only thing he could focus on was gripping what he could reach of the coffin and getting Riche out. He managed to get his fingers between the lid and the side and pulled but it was no use. It didn’t give.

“Bill!” he called again but he didn’t wait. He shifted his weight and started slamming his hands on the lid.

“Eddie! Eddie, please!” Richie called again. His voice was cracked and desperate. It tore Eddie up to hear him this way. “Eddie, help me!”

Eddie brought his fists down on the wood again. It sent painful vibrations up his arms, rattling his teeth. Now he could feel the pain in his body. Each cut on his arms and legs felt like fire. His eye was burning out of his skull. Every time his fists made contact with the wood he felt it ten fold. He could feel the skin on his knuckles splitting and watched as the wood started to stain red.

Bill and Stan joined him, punching the lid as hard as they could to break it. There was a feral look about the boys. Eddie was screaming, he could hear Richie crying, and Bill and Stan were grunting with each blow. Eventually, Stan turns his body and started to bring the heel of his foot down on the wood. Then, and only then, did the wood start to give. Eddie watched as it splintered and cracked. Each blow of Stan’s foot doing more damage than Bill and Eddie combined.

With one final stomp, the wood finally broke through. All three boys grabbed the splintered material and pulled, breaking open a hole and revealing screaming, tear stained Richie. Stan and Bill grabbed him by the arms and hauled him out and onto the ground above them. He looked relatively okay, save for the way he shook and heaved. His skin was a shade paler than normal and his lips were red and swollen, almost bitten completely through.

Eddie was on him in a second. He felt a wave of relief wash over him as he crawled out of the hole and wrapped his arms around Richie’s back where he was hunched over. He pressed gentle kisses into the skin of his neck and rubbed soothing hands down his back. “Its okay, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Richie only sobbed harder. Stan and Bill watched as Eddie clung to him, shushing him and gently kissing any piece of Richie he could.

“Eddie, what happened?” He rasped out. His voice was still choked but as he turned himself over Eddie could see he was slowly coming back down. He almost wished he could have stayed like that with Richie forever, though, because as Richie turned around he saw Eddie for the first time. Eddie, and his bloodied arms and mangled eye. Richie choked out another sob and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s front, peering over his shoulder and taking in each of his friends. “What’s happening?”

**Ben**

Ben watched everyone exchange glances, trying to figure out what to say.

“We don’t know.” Stan finally answered. Ben realized he didn’t even know what had happened to his friends- Eddie was in bad shape too, he didn’t even hear what happened to him.

“We all woke up in different rooms.” Ben started to say, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his stomach. It was a persistent ache, except when he moved. Then he could feel the blood pouring out again, flesh tearing. He had nearly passed out on the walk over here, his vision blurring so badly he couldn’t see for a minute,  but he refused to tell anyone that. They had enough worries.

He watched Richie’s mouth open to ask another question but as he did another door swung open. The one they had gone through slammed shut and one closer to them opened.

“Should we go through it?” Ben asked. He wanted to sit, maybe sleep. It was getting hard to stand.

“No fucking way.” Stan said, shaking his head. “I’m not going back in that place. Who knows what’s in the next room.”

“But we can’t escape.” Bill gestured around. There were thirty foot walls around them and no other doors. “And we still need to find Bev and Mike.”

Stan set his jaw, slowly looking around. Ben could tell he was looking for any other way out but there wasn't any. It was obvious.

“Fine,” he spat. “But we’re not separating again.” Everyone nodded and slowly went over to the door. Eddie and Richie were whispering quiet comforts to each other, both insisting they were fine and worrying over the other. Stan and Bill helped him walk in. The door shut behind them as they entered a new room. It was smaller, a table in the middle with some items on it. Ben couldn’t see what it was until they were closer.

“Thank fuck.” Eddie said, picking up some of the items. “Adrenaline, pain pills, a med kit. Here,” He handed Stan some items. “You patch up Ben, I’ll have Richie help me.” He pointed to a chair, indicating that Ben should sit. He happily did, more so falling into it than sitting.

“We’ll have to get you a sexy eye patch.” Richie said, gently pulling the fabric off Eddie’s eye. Ben saw him try not to grimace at the bone and blood. “My hot pirate boyfriend.”

Eddie gave him a tight smile. His jaw was set and he was clearly trying not to cry out as Richie cleaned the wound. Ben did the same as Stan cleaned his. As they worked they explained what happened. Bill seemed reluctant to admit his, that nothing had happened to him. But it was a relief for Ben, at least he was unharmed.

“Where are Mike and Bev then?” Richie asked as they finished. Ben was feeling better. The shot helped and his stomach was reduced to a dull ache.  

“We need to play the tape.” Bill said, pointing to the cassette player. It had ‘Play me’ written on white tape over it. Ben tried to ignore the red stains that looked like blood.

Wordlessly Eddie hit play, all of them staring as a familiar voice spoke.

“Congratulations. You’ve all made it through your first challenge. Your other friends weren’t so lucky.” Suddenly, a TV that Ben hadn’t noticed started playing. It was showing footage of their rooms. First was Stan’s, dead birds littering the floor. Then Eddie’s, gore and needles coating everything. Ben gasped at the next room. Bev was laying on the floor, half of he face gone from a gunshot wound. He felt tears rolling down his face. Richie called out something but Ben couldn’t hear him. All he heard was his heartbeat, pounding in his ears. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as his room appeared. Then Richie’s coffin. Finally a burned body that all of them knew to be Mike.

“Fuck you!” Eddie screamed at the TV. “Fuck this place!” He pounded on the wall. Richie had to go and wrap his arms around Eddie so he didn’t injure himself more. He collapsed into Richie’s rooms, sobbing. Ben felt Bill’s hand on his shoulder and he looked up. Bill was crying too. His other arm was wrapping around Stan, who had buried his head in Bill’s neck.

“I’ll fucking kill this guy.” Richie said coldly, looking at them. “For what he did to us, for what he did to our friends. I’ll kill him.”

Stan looked up, nodding. “Me too.”

“That won’t bring them back.” Ben said quietly.

Stan snarled at him, about to say more, but the tape was still playing and was now speaking again.

“I’m assuming you’re all vowing to kill me now. Fine. You’re welcome to try. But you’ll need to escape this place first. You probably noticed that your friend Bill had an easier time. His challenge starts now.” From a slot in the wall a drawer popped out. Bill walked over and picked up the object. Ben could see him shaking as he held it out for them to see.

A gun.

“Bill is your leader. All of you trust him with your life. Now, he has to end one of those lives. Shoot one of them Bill. Murder one of your best friends. Then the door will open and you’ll be free to move to the next room. If you refuse, all of you will die from poisonous gas. You have five minutes.”

The room exploded with noise. Eddie started screaming at Bill to put the gun down, that they could figure out this out together. Richie was holding Eddie back and trying to explain that there was another way, there had to be. Bill was muttering to himself, looking suddenly half crazed. And Ben and Stan were both offering themselves in exchange for their friends, explaining why Bill had to take them and not the others. It was chaotic and Ben could barely hear himself, let alone anyone else’s words. He just heard the desperate tone that they all had, all begging for something different and yet the same.  

All conversation stopped as Bill raised the gun.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! First off, we'd like to thank everyone for being so patient with us!. Second, we'd like to quickly apologize for the delay. We know its been a hot minute since we updated but this project isn't abandoned. It is still in full swing and we're so excited to be back and updating it! Third, thank you to everyone who's commented on it and sent us your theories! We're eating up every second of it; we love it. 
> 
> We'll see you in several months for chapter 4..... just kidding! Or are we.......


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Welcome to you next challenge,” the voice boomed as soon as the door slammed shut. The air in the room instantly. “You’ve survived this far. I’m proud of you.”
> 
> Stan felt his hands clench automatically at the praise. It was sick. Proud of us? You’re fucking proud of us? The voice was practically mocking them. There was no way to tell if it was a recording or if someone was watching them, observing them, as they went through the trials. It was like it knew exactly where to cut to make them all burst open.

**Ben**

What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion. Ben and Stan kept yelling at Bill to shoot them as Eddie slipped out of Richie’s grip and ran towards Bill, intent on taking the gun from him. Richie scrambled to grab him but fell, his chin hitting the hard concrete floor.

During all this Bill raised the gun, eyes taking in the scene. For a split second Ben thought that Bill was going to shoot himself but he’d heard the tape, it had to be one of Bill’s friends. That was his test.

Bill seemed to know that. He raised the gun and pointed it directly at Eddie, who was only a few steps away from him. Then he fired. The whole act took maybe ten seconds but to Ben it went on for hours. Especially as he watched Eddie fall, his expression complete shock then, briefly, pain.

Eddie crumpled to the ground as the bullet entered and exited his chest, leaving a gaping wound in his chest. The room was silent except for the clatter of the gun to the floor. For a long beat everyone just stared at the scene.

Then several things happened. Richie’s face shifted and he howled like madman as he ran towards Bill, hands raised, clawlike. Stan ran to pull him back, trying to grab one of Richie’s arms but failing. Richie leapt on Bill and both fell to the ground, Richie on top of Bill, his fists flying. Ben couldn't see anything except a spray of blood.

Stan was there a beat later, trying to pull Richie off. He was screaming at Richie, saying that this wouldn’t help but Richie was feral, it was like he couldn’t even hear Stan. All he could do was attack and hurt Bill. Finally, Ben forced himself to stand, wanting to try and help. It felt like he was moving through jello. His brain couldn’t process what his eyes had seen. It didn’t make sense. Eddie was Bill’s oldest friend. He’d be the first to Bill’s side when Georgie died. It didn’t make sense.

“Richie stop! You've got to stop!” Stan cried, finally managing to pull Richie off Bill. They both fell to the ground, Richie struggling against his friend.

“HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT? HE KILLED EDDIE! HE KILLED-” Richie broke down then, still struggling but the fight going out of him as sobs racked his body. “How could you? How could you?” Stan pulled Richie to him, wrapping his arms around Richie and letting him cry into his shoulder, running his hand through Richie’s hair.  

Even as Stan comforted Richie he looked up at Bill, his eyes cold. “He’s right though.” He spat. Ben had never heard his voice so full of hate. “You killed Eddie.” This brought a fresh sob from Richie and a flinch from Bill.

Bill spread his hands out, looking from Stan to Ben. “I h-h-had to! Duh-d-don’t you see? I h-h-had to!” Bill’s stutter only came back when he was distressed and it was back in full force now.  Fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked at the three of them. “I h-h-h-h- _fuck_. I h-had to kill one of you! Or we’d all d-d-d-d-”

“Die.” Ben finished, nodding. As much as he hated to admit it Bill was right, it was one of them or all of them.

“Why Eddie though? Why him?” Richie cried, removing his head from Stan’s shoulder just enough so they could hear him.

“He w-wa-wasn’t going to make it! D-d-d-don’t you see that? He was missing an eye! He w-w-was already half d-d-d-d” His mouth moved but the word refused to come out.

“Dead.” Ben finished again, quietly this time. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Bill or at Eddie’s body. Instead his eyes fell to the blood flowing on the floor, painting it a vibrant red.

“ _You sick fuck_.” Stan sneered. “We could have talked about it! We could have figured something out!”

Bill shook his head. “N-n-no. This h-had to be done. There was n-no point in talking.”

“Easy for the person still breathing to say.” Stan said, helping Richie up. He was still crying, leaning heavily on Stan. Stan made some comforting shh-ing noises, focused on his friend and Bill looked at them, trying to appeal to them.

“I h-h-had to! Please, b-believe me! I h-h-h-” Stan ignored him, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe off Richie’s tears, which had left trails down his dirt streaked face. Ben couldn’t handle it, Bill looked so distraught and Stan wouldn’t even look at him.

“He’s right.” Ben said, looking at Stan. “He had to kill one of us, it’s not his fault.”

“Fuck that!” Stan spat, rounding on Ben, suddenly full of anger again. “We could have talked! We could have decided together!” Ben didn’t like having the anger of Stan on him, he wanted to cower or hide but forced himself to continue.

“He’s the leader.” Ben said, “It was his decision.” Bill’s eyes widened and he nodded gratefully.

Richie turned to him, jaw set. “Are you on his side then? Is that what this fucking is?” His voice quaked as he spoke, trying to hold in the tears even as he yelled at Ben.

Ben shook his head, feeling miserable. “I’m on _our_ side. There’s only 4 of us left, we can’t turn on each other.”

“HE KILLED EDDIE!” Richie screamed again, his anger now focused on Ben. “He killed my boyfriend! Your friend! How the fuck am I supposed to work with him?!”

“But he didn’t.” Ben’s voice was quiet, sad. “The fucked up person who put us in here did. That monster is responsible for Eddie’s death. Not me. Not Bill. Screaming at each other won’t bring him back.” Now he glanced at Eddie’s body. Even though he knew he was dead the stillness still hurt. He expected Eddie to sit up any second and lecture them about germs or to go comfort Richie, to tell him it was okay. But he didn’t move. And he never would again.

No one spoke. Richie fell back into Stan’s arms, both crying. Bill looked stunned, like he couldn’t believe the last five minutes were real. Ben wanted to feel bad for him but couldn’t quite bring himself to. Even if he understood Bill’s action he still hated him for it. The group was broken. There was no coming back from this.

“The d-d-door opened.” Bill finally said, pointing at a new room.

Ben watched Stan and Richie have a silent conversation, finally seeming to reach a conclusion. Stan turned to Bill. “We don’t trust you. But what fucking choice do we have.”

Bill nodded. “F-f-fair.”

They went through the door.

**STAN**

This was a terrible idea. Stan could feel it in his bones. Everything about this situation felt wrong, even worse now that there was only four of them.

Fuck. How the hell could that have even happened? It all happened so fast that Stan hardly remembers it anymore. There was a gun, a shot, and then nothing. He didn't even see Eddie hit the ground. The only thing he can remember is how he clutched Richie’s shirt in his hands, how he pushed and fought and screamed and cried. How Richie crumbled in his arms and they both went down to the ground.

He didn’t even look at the body. He couldn’t. There was blood everywhere, from all of them, but he knew where the fresh splatters on his khakis came from. He was going to have to carry that blood around with him for the rest of his life. Well, if he still had a life when all of this is done.

Still supporting most of Richie’s weight, they walked through the door together only to have it shut behind them. Well, no big surprise there. Stan took a moment to take the room in. It was confusing at first, just two large monitors that displayed what looked like an aerial view of another room.

“Welcome to you next challenge,” the voice boomed as soon as the door slammed shut. The air in the room instantly. “You’ve survived this far. I’m _proud_ of you.”

Stan felt his hands clench automatically at the praise. It was sick. _Proud of us? You’re fucking proud of us?_ The voice was practically mocking them. There was no way to tell if it was a recording or if someone was watching them, _observing_ them, as they went through the trials. It was like it knew exactly where to cut to make them all burst open.

“This next one requires a little more…. Teamwork.” Stan scoffed but the recording kept going. “It is simple enough. On the other side of this door lies two keys that unlock the door to your freedom. Just navigate the maze, hit a simple button, and go through the door. The seven of you are the best of friends, you should be able to work together to accomplish this task.”

The mention of the number seven made Stan’s stomach turn. For a moment, he thought he might throw up. Nothing made any sense. Stan could feel his senses being sent into overdrive. What the fuck did that mean? Why the fuck was this happening to them? Why couldn’t it all just be over already?

He would give anything to be laying on the cold floor back there with Eddie and Bev and Mike. To be one of those cooling bodies, thoughtless and emotionless and lifeless, almost felt like a dream to him.

“I don’t understand,” Bill said, walking over to the large monitors and running his hands over the buttons.

“I think we have to guide the other person through,” Ben said stepping beside him. He picked up a headset with a microphone and put it on. “Test, one. Test, two,” went into the mic and simultaneously sounded from behind the door to the left of the monitors.

Stan was about to move forward and say something when Richie collapsed onto the floor in front of the control panel. Richie let his head rest against the cool metal as his knees dug into the ground. The rest of him was completely limp. Stan was next to him in a second, leaning down and wrapping his arms around Richie. If he didn’t see the slight shake in Richie’s shoulders he might have thought he passed out.

“I can’t do this, Stan,” Richie whispered. His voice was a hollow shell of what it used to be. The echoes of all of Richie’s jokes bounced against the back of his skull as he ran his hands down Richie’s arms.

“You don’t have to. I’m going to,” Stan whispered back. He let his face rest in Richie’s damp curls, lips right next to Richie’s ears so neither of them had to strain to talk or hear.

“No - I can’t. What if you? I _can’t_ -” Richie’s voice broke as he spoke and Stan could see his fingers digging against the ground.

“Sh, it’s okay. You’re gonna sit up here and guide me. Just let me know where I need to go. That’s all you gotta do. Can you do that for me?”

“I can’t, Stan!” Richie said, voice getting louder and more hysterical, “What if I kill you?! What if I lose you, too?!”

“You won’t, Richie. You won’t.”

Stan sat back as Richie started to stand up. There was some kind of shift in his body, some change in the air as Richie got to his feet. “Bill should go in,” came out dark and gravelly.

“No way!” Bill cried, “you’re going to kill me if I do!”

“What?” Richie laughed, moving right up into Bill’s space, “You don’t trust me? _Big Bill_?” Richie punctuated each word with a step closer to Bill. Stan almost thinks Richie is going to jump, take a swing at Bill until Ben moves to stand beside the two of them.

“Alright, okay, yeah, let’s cool off. Fighting each other isn’t going to fix this,” he tried to reason but Richie put him off.

“Yeah, it just might! He’s the one doing this, Ben! Can’t you see? He killed Mike and Eddie! Ben, he killed _Bev_.”

“Rich!” Ben actually got between them, moving in front of Richie and placing his hands on his shoulders. Stan could only watch as something dangerous flashed across Ben’s face, something he’d never seen in him before. Ben was always calm, rational, and gentle. He’d never seen such anger there. For a second, Ben almost looked like he was going to take a swing for himself until he closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and said, “I’ll go in. Me and Stan. If either of you get distracted or fight out here, then all of us die,” he paused and took a moment to look over his shoulder at Bill, “I’m trusting you both to not kill us all.”

Richie tore his shoulders from Ben’s hands and sat down in the chair. He slipped the headset over his ears and Stan immediately went over to him.

“I’ll be in and out in a minute, Rich. You won’t even know I’m gone.”

Bill slipped into his own seat and they all watched as the door opened.

 _Stan, go left. Ben’s gonna go right._ Rang out across the room as Stan and Ben entered. Ben moved to turn but Stan reach out and grabbed his hand first, giving it a soft squeeze before turning and going his own direction.

They both listened to their respective directions.

_Stan, take the left ahead, not the right. There’s some kind of thing over there, looks like an axe. Might kill you._

Stan felt a cold shudder run through his spine as he did what Richie said. If they made one wrong turn, one wrong step, he would die.

_Ben, go straight but stay in the middle of the hall._

Stan couldn’t help the feeling of anger and guilt rise in his chest as he heard Bill’s voice. One wrong step and it’s all over. The only thing stopping Bill from killing another one of their friends was trust, hope, and an microphone. And that really didn’t seem like a lot to believe in right now.

_You’re close, Stan. Go left._

Stan did as he was told. As he stepped out, he felt the ground rumble beneath his feet. He only had a second to move before large rocks came falling from above. He didn’t even know where they were fucking coming from, all he could register was his own screaming and the fighting need to stumble backwards to safety.

He could hear Richie calling his name desperately but he ignored it and stood. As soon as he knew the rocks had settled, he stepped out onto them. If the trap had already been triggered, it was probably a safe route, right?

Once he was over the pile he saw the button against the far wall. He practically ran, stumbling over the rocks and slamming his hands down on the button as soon as he could reach it.

“Richie! I got it! I did it!” he called out into the air.

_Nice work, Stan! Fuck, you scared me. Now get back here._

Stan and Richie made quick work of navigating the maze back. They followed the same path and listened as Bill praised Ben for finding the second button. They were so close, almost in the clear. Stan felt a giddy sense of pride rise in his chest. They could do this. They could survive. The four of them were going to make it out of this mess alive.

He rounded the corner and could see the door back to the control room. He could see the lights beyond the frame and smiled to himself until a crash sounded from the room, followed by a loud, wet scream.

Stan broke out into a sprint. All of his worst fears played out in front of him. He could imagine some strange creature, _something_ , in that room with his friends. He could see as _it_ slashed their throats or cut their heads off or sunk its teeth into their flesh. No. This couldn’t happen. It wasn’t in the rules! All they had to do was hit the buttons and they could leave, right? There’s no room in this story for monsters and rule breaking and he wasn’t going to let them die. He was ready to kill whatever was on the other side of that door.

Richie was chanting _I swear to God I’m going to kill you_ as Stan barreled back into the control room. Richie had Bill pinned to the ground, his hands wrapped around his throat as he screamed. Stan didn’t even recognize him. He was drooling, tears pouring down his face, eyes completely crazed. he was practically feral.

Stan rushed over, pulling Richie off of Bill and hearing the sharp intake of breath. He almost felt bad as he saw Bill reach up to his throat and rub at it as he gasped for air. _Almost_.

Stan went to ask what was wrong, where was Ben, what the fuck had happened when he saw it. On the monitor he could see a body, practically cut in half from God knows what and dark pools of blood everywhere.

**Bill**

Sweat was pouring out of every gland Bill had. He could feel how tense and angry Richie was next to him. He didn’t blame Richie, he’d killed the love of his life but it had to be done. That’s what Bill kept telling himself. Someone had to die so the rest of them could live. Once they were out of this Richie could hate him for the rest of his life, which he’d only have because of Bill.

He didn’t let himself focus on that though. Instead he stared at Ben, directing him through this terrible maze. _Left, Right, Pause, Go back._ It all blended together. The twists and turns mashed together in his mind and all he could focus on was Ben’s next step.  He breathed a sigh of relief as Ben hit the button, thinking they were safe now.

Until something moved out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head slightly Bill saw someone standing on the other side of the door, watching them through the small window. A tall figure wearing a horrific sheep’s mask. The figure was somehow… familiar. As Bill watched the figure raised a hand and waved to him.

Bill was about to grab Richie, to make him look when he heard a bone shattering scream. Looking back at his screen he gagged, it was full of blood and gore. Something had sliced Ben in half and the parts of him laid on the floor, blood and guts pouring from him.

“Ben.” He whispered, shocked. He had only looked away for a second.

He didn’t have time to think about anything else before Richie launched himself at Bill, screaming as he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when you guys were upset about last chap? Well, we upped the ante for you  
> As always come yell at us on tumblr :P


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger lies before you but to stay here will mean sure death,   
> Two among us six will let you move ahead,  
> The other three of us are killers, hidden among the rest.  
> One of us will make you sleep in this room, consequences unknown,   
> Unless you wish to perish you must choose quickly.   
> To help you in your choice, I give you these clues:  
> First while the poison may try to hide  
> You will always find it on red liquids left side;  
> Second, different are those who stand at either end,  
> But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;  
> Third, as you may notice all are different size,  
> Neither tallest nor smallest holds death in their insides;  
> Fourth, the second left and the second on the right  
> Are twins once you taste them, regardless of how they appear.   
> Choose wisely and drink them down, once you do the door will open.

**Bill**

Bill barely had time to realize what was happening before Richie was on him, hands flying at Bill’s face. 

“Fuck! Richie! S-s-stop!” Bill cried out, trying to cover his face from the relentless blows. Richie didn’t hear him, or didn’t care, he was muttering names under his breath. Ben. Mike. Bev. Eddie.  Richie kept repeating them, like he was in a trance. 

Bill could sense Stan standing over them, watching this unfold and debating if he should help. “I can explain!” He said, wincing as Richie’s blows landed. He knew he’d have several bruises, if not something worse. “I s-saw something!” 

Richie didn’t stop, Bill wasn’t even sure he had heard what he said. The blows continued and Bill couldn’t stop them. Richie wasn’t strong but he was angry and that gave him strength. His arms dodged around Bill’s feeble attempts to defend himself, if Bill put his hands over his face Richie would go for his stomach, when he moved to his stomach the strikes returned to his head.  Bill cried out in pain as Richie’s fist connected with his nose, a sickening crack echoing in his head. 

Then he felt Richie being pulled off of him and assumed that Stan had finally decided to intervene. As he stood, Bill took several shuddering breaths, touching his nose gingerly and quickly pulling back because of the pain that ran through his body at the light touch, and when he looked at his hand it was bloody.  He swallowed the urge to vomit. He wasn’t sure but he thought that it may be broken. 

Wobbling to his feet he saw that Stan was holding Richie back but both were glaring at him, eyes venomous. “Let me go Stan, he fucking deserves this. He killed our friends!” Richie spat, sneering at him. Richie always ran hot, angry and full of fire. Bill knew he’d attack him again in a heartbeat. He took a cautionary step back. 

“I know he did Richie.” In contrast Stan was ice cold. His face betrayed no emotions and that was almost worse. Richie may beat him up but Stan would tie him to a chair and torture him, eventually leaving him to die. Neither option was appealing. “But I want to hear what he thinks he saw.” Richie clearly didn’t like this but he didn’t argue, letting Stan continue to hold him without struggling much. 

Bill swallowed, ignoring how much his face hurt and looked at his former friends. He wanted them to believe him, maybe he could still win them back, convince them that he wasn’t behind this. “A figure in a sheep’s mask. Someone is watching us!” He expected a reaction, for them to be shocked or surprised but neither reacted. 

He spread his hands in front of him, desperate for them to understand. “Don’t you see what that means?” It wasn’t him, he added silently. It had never been him. He was as much a victim as they were.  

Neither reacted. Richie continued to look disgusted by his very presence and Stan was wearing a cold mask.

“G-guys it’s me. It’s B-big Bill.” He added, looking for any flicker of recognition or friendship in their eyes. 

There was nothing.

“Why the fuck would we believe you?” Richie snapped. “You wanted Ben to die! You’ve been picking our friends off one by one! You sick fuck.”

Bill’s heart sank to his stomach. They would never believe him no matter what he said. “I didn’t.” He told them, letting defeat sink into his voice. “I loved Ben, Eddie too.”

Richie surged against Stan’s grip. “Don’t fucking say his name.” Richie snarled, pointing at him. “You don’t get to say his fucking name ever again.” 

Bill sighed, giving up. “Fine. Don’t fucking believe me.” He took a deep breath and looked at them, steeling himself for his next sentence. “What now? Are you just going to let him kill me?” He asked, looking at Stan and trying not to cry when he saw no sympathy in those eyes. 

“No,” Bill let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding but Stan’s next sentence made the fear return. “We might need you.” Stan gestured to the door. “You can go through first.” 

Bill clenched his jaw and walked to the door, cautiously pushing it open. With no small relief he realized that nothing was going to attack him and walked into the room, looking around. It was small, containing only a table that had 6 vials, a paused countdown and a piece of paper. 

Stan and Richie walked in behind him. Stan had finally let Richie go but both were keeping their distance from him, eyeing him like anything could happen. As they walked in the other door snapped closed behind them, making all three jump. 

“What’s the paper say?” Stan asked him, pointing to the table. He clearly wanted Bill to venture over in case there was a trap. 

Carefully, Bill walked over, picking up the paper and reading it outloud. 

Danger lies before you but to stay here will mean sure death,    
Two among us six will let you move ahead,   
The other three of us are killers, hidden among the rest.   
One of us will make you sleep in this room, consequences unknown,    
Unless you wish to perish you must choose quickly.    
To help you in your choice, I give you these clues:   
First while the poison may try to hide   
You will always find it on red liquids left side;   
Second, different are those who stand at either end,   
But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;   
Third, as you may notice all are different size,   
Neither tallest nor smallest holds death in their insides;   
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right   
Are twins once you taste them, regardless of how they appear.    
Choose wisely and drink them down, once you do the door will open.

Bill finished reading and looked at the others, thoroughly confused. “What the fuck does that mean?” He asked.

With a huff, Stan walked over and snatched the paper from Bill’s hands, his brow furrowing as he read it again. “We just need to find the two that let us go on.”

“There’s three of us.” Bill pointed out. 

Stan looked at him. “You think I fucking care what happens to you? Richie and I will drink the safe ones and you can pick from the others.”

Fear blossomed in Bill’s heart. Stan really meant to leave him here. He really didn't care what happened to Bill, if he lived or died. The last tie to their friendship was severed as Stan gave him a withering look and started to read the poem again. 

He slumped against the wall. His only option was to steal one of the vials before the others drank it. But could he do that? Could he sentence one of them to die? Despite what had happened with Eddie he didn’t think he could. 

As Stan muttered to himself Bill noticed that the timer had started, they had less than five minutes to figure out the clue. He tried to say something but Stan hissed at him, clearly indicating that he didn’t care. Richie had started to pace in front of Bill, shooting daggers at him the whole time. Bill let another minute lapse before forcing himself to speak. “T-t-t-t-” Both turned to him, glaring at him and he couldn’t spit it out. Everything about this place was hell. His friends hated him. They were all going to die. 

Stan rounded on him, furious. “What Bill? What the fuck could you possibly need to say? I’m trying to solve this fucking riddle. So what could be more important than that?” Bill cowered for a second, it was rare for Stan to be so angry and it scared him. But Bill knew they’d all die if he didn’t do something. 

Bill grabbed Stan’s face and forced him to look at the clock, which now had less than two minutes left. Stan’s eyes widened. “Shit!” He looked back at the paper, fear growing on his face. “I have no fucking idea which ones we should drink.” He slammed the paper down, looking at Bill and Richie. “I’ve got nothing.” He sounded defeated and Bill wondered if this place had finally gotten to him. If Stan gave up they had no chance, Richie and Bill were in no state to lead. 

Bill stepped forward, meaning to put an arm around him but Richie glared at him, walking over and putting an arm around Stan, whispering something to him. The exchange took a long time, when they pulled apart there were only 45 seconds left on the clock but Stan looked better, his resolve strengthened. Stan picked up the paper and read it once more then pointed. “Richie drink this one.” He handed Richie a vial and took another for himself. The he pointed to a third for Bill. “That one should put you to sleep.”

Bill nodded, picking up the vial. He knew that Stan may be lying but he didn’t think that the others would be a better shot. “Together?” Bill asked and the others nodded, clinking their glasses together and all drinking at once. 

**Richie**

Richie drank the cool liquid, feeling it slide down his throat. He looked at the other two, watching to see if anyone fell. No one moved but a door across from them opened, making him jump.

After a minute all of them were still standing and Richie was surprisingly relieved. “Maybe it was wrong?” He said, looking at them both. 

Bill shrugged and Stan nodded. “Let’s not question the first good thing to happen in this shit hole.” Stan said, walking to the next room. They followed. 

The next room was similar to the set up of the maze area, an area that lead to a small hole. There was a counter with a folded piece of paper on it and, again, the door slammed behind them once they were all inside. 

“What the fuck is this?” Richie asked, craning his head to look around. As he did he felt a dull pain in his stomach, like when he ate too many slices of pizza at once. He grunted, rubbing his stomach and Stan looked at him, face full of concern. He shook his head, silently telling Stan he was fine. They had bigger things to worry about and Richie was sure that it was just because he hadn’t eaten in god knows how long. 

As they looked around a recording began, the now familiar cold voice filling the room. “You’re nearly through my maze, only two more rooms await. But there’s always another challenge to conquer. Another leap of faith for you and your friends. This time, one of you will need to venture into the dark maze and find their way through while the others guide them on the map. You’ll have ten minutes to guide them through. Any longer and the person in the maze will lose their air supply and the others will perish in here. They will meet you in the next room where your final challenge can begin.” As the recording ended a clock appeared above the door, ten minutes counting down. 

Stan rounded on Bill, pointing at him. “You’re going in, we’ll guide you.”

Bill shook his head, his eyes growing wide. “No fucking way. You’ll kill me!” Richie couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction at the fear in Bill’s voice. It was what he deserved. To be scared, to know that they didn’t care what happened to him. Especially after what he did to Eddie. Richie had to squeeze his eyes shut as he thought about Eddie, his cold body lying on the hard floor. 

Stan shrugged, not caring about the accurate concern. “I’m not going in there, if I leave Richie will kill you and I won’t care. And Richie is scared of small spaces so I’m not sending him in.” He grinned maliciously. “That leaves you Big Bill.” 

Richie’s vision wavered briefly, the room growing blurry, as Bill sucked in a breath, glancing at the clock and nodding. “F-fuck you both. Don’t let me die.”

“Like you did with Eddie?” Richie asked bitterly. His anger was slipping away, replaced instead with a strange haze. But he still hated Bill. He hoped Stan killed him for what he had done. 

Bill looked at him, eyes full of pain and regret, but didn’t say anything. Instead he put on one of the headsets, got on all fours, and crawled into the dark space. As he disappeared a small door slammed down, separating the three. Richie couldn’t help but feel a small relief to be alone with Stan. 

“Are you going to let him die?” Richie asked, leaning heavily against the counter. He felt tired, his eyes were suddenly hard to keep open but that was okay, he was safe with Stan. He knew that Stan wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He watched as Stan unfolded the map and put on the headset then closed his eyes as Stan spoke. 

“No.” Richie heard the determination in his voice, the coldness. “I want to kill him myself. Dying in there is too good for him.”

The coldness in Stan’s voice surprised Richie. It was so unlike him, unlike the best friend he’d known for his whole life. “Stan.” Richie opened his eyes and put a hand on his shoulder, making Stan look at him. “We’re going to get out of this.” He worried that Stan was focused only on killing Bill and not on them surviving. 

Stan gave him a small nod and then spoke a direction to Bill. As he did, Richie let himself think about surviving this, him and Stan. Maybe they could do it, the two of them. Maybe they could walk out of this hell hole and live. The voice had said there was only one challenge left. They could get out, go to the police and then Richie could come back and collect Eddie’s body, it was the least he could do.  

As Richie decided that another burst of pain shot through him. He folded in half, clenching his stomach and groaning. 

“Richie?! What’s wrong?” Stan asked, turning to look at him, face full of concern. 

“I’m fine.” Richie told him through gritted teeth. “Go back to Bill. Get that fucking door open. Get us out of here Stan, you have to get us out of here.” He knew that Stan was worried but they were on a time limit and they needed to get that door open. That was what mattered, nothing else. 

Stan continued to guide Bill through the maze but Richie stopped listening. All he could focus on was how tired he was and how the edges of his vision was starting to grow dark. He tried to stay quiet, not wanting to distract Stan as he directed Bill. But then another pain shot through him, starting in his stomach and reaching to his toes and he whimpered. 

“Stan, I don’t feel-” Richie got out before falling off the counter. 

**STAN**

“Richie?!” Stan shouted, turning completely away from the screen and to the crumpled figure on the ground. Richie had his eyes shut tight, his arms wound around his center as he gently rocked back and forth. He was whispering something to himself but Stan couldn't hear. He could only hear Bill’s call of his name through the headset, asking what was wrong, begging Stan to answer him. 

_ “-I go? Stan? Can you hear me? Sta-” _

Bill’s voice cut out of his ear, the only sound in the chamber the echo of plastic hitting the concrete ground. “Richie, what’s happening?”

His hands flew to Richie’s bicep, the skin there a warm scarlet compared to the ice running through his own viens. Time passed slowly. What was realistically only a few seconds felt like hours on that cold floor. He watched as Richie rocked, his face twisted and his breath coming shallow. Blood pumped through his ears and he watched Richie’s lips form empty words, desperate prayers to dead bodies from lifetimes ago. 

“My body, Stan. It’s on fire. Help me,  _ please _ fucking help me it  _ burns _ ,” Richie said before a scream cut through the air. Richie writhed on the ground, body twisting and arching, naturally trying to escape whatever it was that was going on inside of him. Stan watched on in horror, his hands trying to sooth every inch of Richie he could reach. It was hard with Richie arching into and away from any movement Stan made. It was awful, watching his only friend burn up beneath him. 

Before Stan could so much as speak, it stopped. Richie stilled, curled into his side with his face pressed against the cool concrete. His face was peaceful and his entire body was limp. 

“Richie?” Stan asked, voice barely above a whisper. Richie didn’t move. He didn’t even so much as breath at Stan’s words. He looked dead, sweat coating his forehead and upper lip. He couldn’t be, though. There was no way. Richie Tozier was stronger than this. There was no universe in which Richie wasn’t alive, wasn’t running his mouth and his mind and this whole fucking town. It takes more than whatever the fuck was happening to kill Richie. They’d come this far, this couldn’t be where it ended. If it was, then fuck. What was the point? If Richie was dead, Stan may as well die here, too. 

Slowly, so slowly Richie opened his eyes and looked up at Stan. Stan let his breath out as a hand hand, shaking and weighted, rose from the ground and settled in the collar of Stan’s shirt. “The maze,” cracked out from chapped lips and how the fuck did Richie look so bad so quickly? Stan was right here, he was watching, and yet somehow Richie aged ten years in front of him. It was like he was being swallowed into the black lighting, fading away into the floor. Richie had always been skin and bones but now… Now he looked like a paper doll, bent and folded and so, so pale. 

“Richie,” Stan started but the hand on his collar only tugged. Stan’s eyes flitted from Richie to the headset a few feet away. Stan scrambled for it, holding it in his lap with one hand and gripping Richie’s fist with his other. “You’re not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Richie whispered back, eyes suddenly sharp and alert as they caught Stan’s own green. “But I won’t be unless you get Bill out of that maze.”

Stan didn’t move fast, not the way he knew he should. He slowly stood, staying as bent as he could to keep his grip on Richie’s hand. He felt the fingers relax, release his collar and gently wind around Stan’s fingers instead. Stan looked at the screen where Bill was paused on all fours, desperately looking around in the dark, and back to Richie once more before slipping the headset on and picking the map back up. 

“Bill?” Richie was right. If Stan didn’t get them out of here Richie would die, they all would die. Bill was hunched over in the same position as Stan last saw him and something warm cut through the ice in him. Something simmering, something growing under the surface, splitting the skin and fermenting. 

“ _ Oh, thank god _ ,” Bill sobbed through the earpiece, relief clear in his voice. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Stan cut in, his hand still gripping Richie’s. “Just follow my directions and don’t fuck this up.”

Stan moved quick, snapping at Bill to pick up the pace as he crawled and turned and maneuvered in the tight space. Stan could see the opening on the map, he knew that BIll was close and the faster Bill was free the faster they’d be able to get Richie out. Stan hated him. He watched and let himself hate him. He let himself see Bill under his boot, foot pressing on his throat as all of the life drained out of Bill’s face. He could feel the struggle Bill would put up, felt phantom scratches down his leg before the snap of the bone reverberates up his shin. 

Stan shook his head, coming back to the present. Bill was close and Richie’s hand was still in his, still gently gripping. He could hear small whimpers, feel Richie’s movement in a desperate attempt to self sooth. Stan squeezed back.  _ We’re close _ , he thought. 

Finally Bill broke free. He grabbed the threshold of the finish line and drug himself through the narrow opening, panting. Stan could see him lying in the open room on his back, hands over his face and he regained himself. 

They sat like that for a moment, Richie and Bill in beds on separate floors and Stan watching, the door, waiting for something to give. Stan counted to one, three ten, twenty and nothing. Bill said something in his ear but Stan couldn’t care less. All he could care about was that door and how it was unmoving, how he felt Richie’s hand begin to slip from his own. 

It didn’t, though. Stan would never let it. He almost didn’t look down for fear of what he would see. His best friend, his flightless bird on the ground with clipped wings and a fading heartbeat. Stan knew now what was happening. He cursed himself and Bill and every God, every religion in the world for it. 

“Richie,” Stan said softly. He slid from the chair onto his knees and looked down at the sunke body. It’d been ravaged, pillaged of everything good in this world and left a husk of its former self. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Richie whispered back, eyes cracked back open at Stan. A small smile lingered on his face and he gently squeezed at Stan’s hand. 

“I killed you.” A single tear slipped out of the corner of Stan’s eye and trailed down his face, dripping off his skin and into Richie’s hair. Stan watched it go, mesmerized by its determination. It moved more fluidly than he ever would. 

“No, no,” Richie said. He rolled turned onto his back and Stan grabbed his shoulders, pulled Richie into his lap. He buried his fingers in Richie’s hair and gentle shushes came from Richie. “It’s all gonna be okay, bird boy.”

“It’s not,” Stan said and then the flood gates opened. He hugged Richie to him, clutching at his body and sobbing. This was it. This was the end. They’ll never get out of here fast enough to save Richie. Hell, they may never get out of here at all. This was Bill’s plan, wasn’t it. He was safe, nestled in the other room and free as Stan held a fading dream in his arms. They were so close but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Stan would never be free. Never. Not even if he got out of this hell hole. He’s got blood on his hands now. If he wasn’t so reckless, if he wasn’t so naive. “I’m so sorry, Richie. I did this.”

Richie hummed and ran a hand up Stan’s arm. It was the ghost of a touch, a barely there feather. When Stan looked back down at Richie, even though the haze of tears, he could see the glazed look in Richie’s eyes. He was already far away from here. Stan could see a shimmer in the back of his gaze, the tell tale sign of death he’d seen in the birds who died slow. He couldn’t help the way his chest rattled, the way he gasped and coughed in premature grief. 

“It’s fine, Stan, it’s fine. I’m not mad at you. Besides, I think I can see him. I think he’s waiting for me,” Richie said. Richie never looked at him. He kept his eyes trained on the far wall, a gentle look passing over his face. “He loves you, Stan. We all do.”

“I love you, too,” came out quick, automatic. He didn’t want to miss it. If he held his breath, he knew Richie would slip away into the darkness. Stan couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Richie go without him knowing that he loved him, too. 

Richie closed his eyes and smiled gently. Slowly, he raised his hand to Stan’s and grabbed it. He brought it to his lips, kissing his pointer finger. Stan felt the exhale of Richie’s breath on his hand and then nothing. The room around them became still. No one moved, no one breathed. 

“Richie?”

After a moment, Stan squeezed richie’s hand. Nothing. 

“Richie,  _ please _ .”

Stan shook him, jostled his body until his head lolled to the side almost unnaturally. The sight made Stan hiccup and break, more sobs bubbling out of him. He almost called out again, almost begged to nothing for Richie to say something, do something, give any sign at all that he was still here. He didn’t, though. He knew what death looked like. 

They stayed there. For how long, Stan didn’t know. He only shushed himself, gently rocking Richie in his arms and running cold fingers through his hair. He touched his face once, whispered goodbye several times, and let himself drown in moment. This was the only one of his friends he could give a proper goodbye to. He had to make it count, he had to let them know he loved them. If Richie could hear him, they all could. He said their names, spilled his sorrow into the concrete where he hoped they were. He knew he’d see them soon. With the door still shut tight and Bill free to escape without him, there was nothing else he could do. 

After what felt like hours, days, he sat back up straight. His head was fuzzy and pounding, his vision blurred. The only thing that pulled him back into the present was a noise. It wasn’t a clatter or a band, but a soft whisper. A distant voice. In his confusion, Stan thought maybe it was finally time. Maybe relief could come quicker in the form of insanity. Maybe he could be spared the gruesome fate of his predecessors and be allowed to cross over willingly. 

It sounded again, this time more distinct. Stan could almost make it out. It was a short but drawn out sound. Small and feeble and crackled. 

He slowly, gently, laid Richie on the ground and stood. Straining his ear, he waited for it again.

_ “Stan.” _

What the fuck? He had to be going crazy. He had to be absolutely losing his fucking mind. Voices? In a locked room? 

“Richie? Is that you?”

It was the only explanation. They were the only two in here, and even though the body at his feet didn’t move maybe he was still here. Maybe he lingered, desperate to tell Stan what to do. How to help himself in whatever way that meant.

_ “Stan!” _

Stan’s head whipped around to the desk where the headset was. He picked it up and slid it on. He didn’t say anything at first, he just stood with the headset on. He knew Bill could hear him breathing and that was enough. 

_ “Stan? Please say something man I don’t know what’s going on.” _

Stan didn’t have words, nothing to say or think or be. He zoned out, eyes on Richie. 

_ “The door won’t open. I don’t know what’s happening. I think I’m going to try to come back through the maze. Can you guide me?” _

Stan nodded to no one. He sat at the desk, nothing but autopilot. When he looked at the screen he could see Bill standing, staring at the small opening in the wall. He looked calm, peaceful almost. His lips were moving but Stan couldn’t hear what he was saying. He thought maybe Bill was talking to himself, maybe he was thinking out loud. 

There was something in the way Bill was standing, something in the way he looked content, almost pleased with the situation. He didn’t look at all like they’d been through hell these last few hours. He didn’t look like he lost every single friend to his name. No, he looked calm, determined even. How could he not feel what Stan was feeling? How could he stand there and just casually crawl through tunnel after maze after obstacle after death?

Unless. 

Stan didn’t want to be right. Not now, not ever. But in that moment he knew he was. He knew that Bill was on the other side of that wall for a reason. There was a distant, almost unconscious feeling inside of him that there was no way that Bill, their Bill could do this to them. But there he was, unharmed and content with life. Ready to face on the world as if there were any more world left to face.

He still didn’t speak. He just watched, anger rising inside of his chest, and Bill crouched to the ground and leaned toward the opening. He saw it in slow motion: Bill reaching on in arm and the wall snapping shut, the door connecting the room’s snapping open. He heard the scream, felt it in his chest. He saw the blood spill out onto the ground through the lens of the screen. 

Stan stood, functioning as though someone was inputting commands into a Stanley Uris controller, and walked to the door. On the other side, in the flesh, was a freshly wounded Bill. There was more blood than Stan could have imagine, all of it oozing from the stump where his arm used to be. 

“What a shame,” Stan said, walking closer and tutting, “the torturer gets tortured.”

Bill reacted almost immediately, turning his head up and staring at Stan. his eyes were wide and his mouth hung open in an empty scream. His whole body shook. “Stan, please, help me.”

“No one can help you now, Bill,” Stan said. He stayed unmoving, cold, expressionless. Bill reached his only hand for him but he couldn’t reach. He couldn’t move. It was like he was nailed to the floor. “You reap what you sow.”

“Please, St-Stan,” Bll sobbed, he coughed and blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t me. You have to know that.”

Stan didn’t answer. He let his silence answer for him. He watched as BIll’s expression shifted from pleading to horror. To  _ realization _ . 

“My arm is gone, you can’t think I did this to myself!” Bill plead, his voice rising higher and higher in his panic.

“I don’t,” Stan said. It wasn’t a lie, either. He just thinks Bill’s an idiot. “You got sloppy and fucked up. And now you’re going to die.”

“It wasn’t me, puh-please,  _ please _ you have to believe me. You have to help me. You’d have helped any of the others!” Bill sobbed, now. He twisted his body to get closer to Stan, sliding his hands and legs through the thick puddle he was in. 

“Why didn’t you have a room, then?! Why were you the only one to walk away unharmed?!”

Bill coughed again and looked up. He looked frail. His skin was porcelain white and his eyes were sinking back into his skull. The blood that soaked into his clothing was a stark contrast. The splatters on his face and the drippings down his skin were almost alarmingly bright. Stan focused on it for a moment, noticing the way it slowly dipped down. Some part of Stan wanted to reach out and wipe it off. Another part of him wanted to make it worse. “I had to kuh-kill one of my -fuh-fur-friends, Stan! One of my only friends! Two of which were already duh-dead and I had no idea!”

“Why Eddie?!” Stan felt himself shouting, he felt himself losing any semblance of control he had left. It was slipping away, farther and farther. All he could think about was Eddie’s broken body. It was so fucked up. This whole thing was. How the fuck was he supposed to believe Bill right now? Was he supposed to just sit back and listen? Blindly follow him into death the way everyone else unknowingly did? No fucking way. He wasn’t going to fall for Bill’s lies. He wasn’t going to take sympathy on the person who turned against them, who killed the one person who worshiped him. Fuck, Bill was everything to Eddie, right behind Richie. They’d known each other the longest and he just shot him in cold blood. The shot echoed through Stan’s head and he couldn’t help the way he clenched his fist. It didn’t matter what Bill said, nothing would make this better. 

Bill paused. Time was running out for both of them and maybe he knew that. Maybe he knew that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t matter. The truth was on the tip of his tongue, the only shot he had at freedom. If he lied, Stan would know. Oh, Stan would fucking know. 

“He reminded me so much of Georgie, every time I looked at him all I saw was my brother. All I could think about was how he died,” he whispered. He talked so slow that his stutter almost seemed to disappear. Stan almost couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing in his ears, the banging anger in his heartbeat. He became hysterical as he spoke, voice rising in pitch and speed. “He was there that day. Told me he didn’t wanna go out in the rain and that Georgie should just go alone. And I fucking let him, Bill.”

“You killed Eddie as revenge…”

“I just couldn’t look at him!”

“You sick mother fucker!” Stan shouted again. He kicked out, striking Bill in the stomach with the toe of his shoe. “He worshiped the ground you stood on, Bill! He loved you so much!”

Bill screamed out, taking two more hits and begging Stan to forgive him in between. Begging everyone to forgive him. Stan almost kept going, almost took every single ounce of rage he felt out on Bill. It would be easy, he was already down. He didn’t, though. He couldn’t. Bill was a dead man breathing, but he was still Bill. There were still distant memories lingering in the back of his head. Bill and him down at the quarry, movie nights, bike rides, the Aladdin. And as much as he wanted to keep the barrage of blows going, he couldn’t. Not with distant laughter echoing in his ears. 

Instead, he leaned down, close to Bill’s ear and said, “You should have just shot yourself.”

Bill whimpered, bracing for more but Stan didn’t deliver. Instead, he stepped back and looked away from the dying boy on the floor. There was nothing more he could do at this point. No more justice he could bring to his friends. He was the last one left, the only one standing. The only one who had a chance of walking out of this hell hole and telling their story to the world. Six innocent children betrayed by their hero, their best friend. 

Of all people, it really was Bill. The only thoughts running through his mind were choiceless, grief, unequivocal betrayal. He listened to the rattle of Bill’s breath and closed his eyes. There were no surprises when the door behind him closed, another opened, and the lights went off. He stood there and waited for the last challenge, his last chance at freedom. 

“Hello, Stan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only 1 more chapter left friends


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan took a moment to suck in a deep breath before he opened his eyes. In that moment, he tried to remember every last detail that led him to this spot. He woke up in a room full of birds and slaughtered them for his freedom. He watched his battered friend try to save his broken friend, only for them to be shot and sliced him half. He held his childhood best friend as he gasped for his last breath. He watched the boy he thought he could trust to lead him into battle bleed out on the floor. His two other friends? Burnt and suffocated before they ever got the chance to say goodbye.

Stan took a moment to suck in a deep breath before he opened his eyes. In that moment, he tried to remember every last detail that led him to this spot. He woke up in a room full of birds and slaughtered them for his freedom. He watched his battered friend try to save his broken friend, only for them to be shot and sliced him half. He held his childhood best friend as he gasped for his last breath. He watched the boy he thought he could trust to lead him into battle bleed out on the floor. His two other friends? Burnt and suffocated before they ever got the chance to say goodbye.

Were they the lucky ones? Was it fortunate that they got to fade away before the horrific realities of the next few hours were unraveled? Or was is Stan who was lucky? Stan, who watched every single person he loved in his life fall to their knees in death. Stan, who was directly responsible for at least one of those deaths. Stan, who stood facing the unknown, ready to live another day or die trying.

Maybe to some people, Stan was the luckiest of them all. He knew the news would see it that way. When he finally walked out of this hell – last man standing, sole survivor of the horror maze – they would be all over him like maggots to his dead friend’s flesh.

His breath stuttered out of him as he opened his eyes. Whatever, no use pining over the unchangeable. The only thing to do was to keep marching forward. Keep fighting. Get out of here and see his mom and dad again. Explain to all the other moms and dads why he was alive and they weren’t.

On the far end of the room, there was an open door. White light bled out of it’s edges, flooding the empty cavity of the room and illuminating the few things inside of it. Stan could see Bill’s lifeless body on the floor. The coagulating blood absorbed a weird glint. It reminded him of a puddle in a rainstorm. Perhaps if Stan looked down, he’d see a paper boat floating inside of it.

In the doorway stood the figure whose voice spoke to him not even a minute earlier. It was tall, maybe taller than Stan but not by much. It has square shoulders and it stood in confidence, blocking the door in case Stan made any attempt to slip by. Other than that, Stan was left in the dark. Any defining characteristics were covered in shadows, making it impossible to define, but one thing was certain: that was no human head. There were two small ovals coming off the top that must have been ears, and what looked like a small snout protruding off the front of it. That alone was enough to make Stan stumble backwards, shocked to his core.

 _What the fuck?_ The figure took one step forward and there was something so primal, so animalistic to the feeling in the room. Things shifted from a calm, collected confidence to a feral electricity. With each step that _thing_ took, Stan found himself stepping backwards until he was pressed against the wall. The closer it came, the more of it he could see. It was wearing a button up shirt and diesel jeans, and in its right hand was a handgun of some kind. This shook Stan to his absolute core. He proved that he could overcome almost anything in this hellhole. He could climb through mazes and kill birds and solve riddles, but a gun? No one can outrun a speeding bullet. No one can block that metal death.

“Stan,” it growled, stopping a few yards away. “I’m so pleased to see you here.”

Stan opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his voice was stuck. That voice, it sounded familiar but so, so horrific. Like someone took a comforting, childhood memory and beat it black and blue with a baseball bat, leaving nothing but a hollow, angry shell in its place.

Without warning, the lights in the room came on again. The sheer unexpectedness of it blinded Stan for a moment. His retinas burned with the adjustment and his hand went up to block the light and give himself time to get used to it. The figure didn’t move, it didn’t even flinch at the change. While Stan was cowering and trying to take in the sights around him, the figure stood there and waited. Stock still and almost calming to look at. There was something about the confidence it was exuding, the way it was so firm in its position. It made Stan both anxious and settled at the same time.

It was then that Stan realized that it wasn’t an animal’s head on that body. Well, not in the way he thought it was. It was a fucking mask and it was horrifying. On top of a pair of strong shoulders sat a sheep’s head which Stan could only assume was decapitated and hollowed out by the thing underneath it. It had blood stains throughout its white fur and the eyes were blank and gray. Its mouth hung open in a silent, eternal scream. It was real, alright. It wasn’t some cheap mask you could buy on eBay. The thought made Stan’s stomach churn.

“Aren’t you happy to see me, too? It’s been such a long day.”

The creature took one more step closer to Stan and he felt himself involuntarily flinch. This, the creature seemed to notice. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Stan. You’ve won.”

“Then why are you holding a gun?” Stan asked. It came out hoarse, like an automatic whisper that he had no control over. He surprised himself with it, thinking he’d die with his voice in his throat.

“Oh, this?” It raised the gun up, holding it in front of him with the barrel pointed at the ceiling. “This is a safety measure, nothing more. I won’t hurt you with it,” it lowered the gun back down, tilting it’s brutish head to the side. “Unless you try to hurt me first.”

This sent a chill down Stan’s spine. There was something so sinister in those words. Something so _honest_. It was in that moment, that split second, Stan realized who was standing in front of him. He was face to face with the thing that orchestrated this entire mess. This entire fucking nightmare that Stan was enduring. For a second, he thought maybe he’d wake up. Maybe this whole thing was a fucking fever dream. Surely the half sheep half man standing in front of him was a figment of some fucking virus. Yeah, that’s it. He’s in the hospital right now with an IV in his arm, blood cells attacking this horrific illness.

“What are you?” Despite this conclusion, he felt his mouth moving anyway. Begging to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue.

The figure just laughed, and _god_ that laugh sounded familiar. Stan could hear it in his ears, echoing around in his empty chest. Ben laughed like that, didn’t he? Fuck, Stan couldn’t remember anymore. He couldn’t remember what Ben sounded like without pained wheezes and gasps or screams. He couldn’t remember what any of his friends sounded like. Ghosts in his ears, all of them.

“Not what, _who_ .” God it was mocking him. It was laughing at him, smiling a monster’s smile and cackling at his expense. All of his friends were dead, dead at that hands of this fucking _thing_ and it had the fucking gall to laugh at him. The wall behind him turned from a thing to cower against to a thing to push himself taller. Whatever fear he felt a second ago melted into pure rage. He was crumbling from the inside out.

“Shut the fuck up with your stupid fucking riddles,” Stan spat. Something inside of him snapped at that mocking tone. Something that couldn’t handle this anymore. Everything was starting to spin and nothing made sense. And that figure, that fucking thing, that fucking _who_ just kept laughing its demon laugh that Stan _knows_ he knows. He fucking knows it god dammit. It was like a thousand memories distorted by a thousand traumas. “ _Who_ are you?”

“Let me show you,” the figure says and Stan takes one step forward, off the wall and standing on his own. He squares his own shoulders and readies himself in response. There was no telling what the fuck was going to be under that mask. What sick fuck would put someone through this?

A thousand images of what could be passed through Stan’s mind. That monster must be horrid. Its face must be tattered and scared and its body must be disfigured like in the movies. No rational, sane person could do something like this.

Slowly, the figure raised its free hand up and dug its fingers into the skin of the mask. It moved in slow motion, dragging the heavy head up and up and up. Inch by inch, skin was revealed and Stan’s entire world began to spin on its axis. The further up the mask went, the closer Stan got to realizing who was under that mask, why they sounded so familiar.

Something began to shift within Stan as this happened. For a moment, he was begging to know who was under that mask. Something inside of him ran cold with anger, made his hands itch to rip and hurt and kill. Whoever this person was, Stan would see to it that they died by his doing. He would be the one who brings it down, he would be the one to avenge all of his fallen friends, no matter the cost.

Without even realizing it, he shut his eyes and waited until the end came. It was too much, he couldn’t watch as his entire world came undone. It wasn’t until he heard the thud of something solid hitting the ground that he reopened them.

“Stan,” was all he said. He stood there, exposed and revealed and waiting for Stan to move, to do something, anything to show that he understood. Stan didn’t. How could he? How could he ever fucking understand this? He’s never felt such a powerful mix of rage, grief, and confusion coursing through him. He felt like one wrong move could lead to the end of the world, the collapse of the universe at large. It was too fucking much.

“Mike,” was all he could manage to say back. His teeth sunk into his lower lip. Hot, silent tears began to stream down his face uncontrollably.

They both stood there, taking the other in. They were the polar opposites of each other now more than ever. Stan was disheveled, his blond curls completely out of control, his face red and blotchy. Blood was stained into his clothes and skin and eyes. Mike was pressed and proper, completely put together. He looked like something out of the hall of their high school, except he was holding a gun and standing next to a dead Bill Denbrough.

With every passing second, Stan could feel his resolve was chip, chip, chipping away. Cool, calm, collected Stan was losing his fucking marbles out here. Mike, on the other hand, had never looked more in control.

 

**Mike**

He’d admit, he was pleased that it was Stan who survived. He always thought that Stan was the strongest of the group, the one with the will to do whatever it took to live. Not like the others, they were weak, unworthy.

“Why?” Stan asked, his voice strangled. Mike was impressed that that his friend was still standing. He looked shaky, like he may collapse any second, but for now he was on his own two feet. “They were your friends, your family. Why?”

Mike laughed, cold and humorless. “My friends? My family? You can’t believe that. I was always the outsider, just like you Stan. The two of us, looking into this perfect little group.” He couldn’t stop the bite in his voice. He was surprised that he had to explain it. They’d talked about it many times, how it felt like they were on the outside looking in. The others never understood them, they were too different too strange.

No matter, it made him stronger.

“They loved you.” Stan said, tears streaming down his face. “They would have done anything for you.”

“Anything except let me into their little world.” Mike’s jaw tightened as he remembered all the inside jokes he’d missed, all the little insults about him being homeschooled or living on a farm. “I never fit in Stan, I came too late, I was too different, too weird. You know that, you felt the same.”

Stan shook his head. “No Mike, every teenager feels like that. It doesn’t mean- you don’t do this!” His voice broke and for a second Mike felt bad but he knew that Stan would thank him in the end.

“Oh Stan, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend. They’re all gone, taken out by their own stupid hubris. All of them, fell to their own follies. It was perfect.” Mike thought back proudly, thinking of the planning that had gone into this, all the time, the phone calls. It was his grand plan and he’d done it. While he paused Stan continued to watch him, his demeanor changing slightly. Mike assumed that he was thinking through his words, realizing that he was right.

Stan had stopped crying, the tears were drying on his face as he said, “Why though?” He asked again. “Why?”

“It had to be done. They had to confront their fears so they could be free.” He said with a small shrug. “If they’d been stronger they would have lived. Like you did.” Mike wanted to reach out and touch Stan, to let him know he’s lived, but he couldn’t, not yet. Stan needed time but soon he’d see, he’d understand.

“They were strong! All of them were so fucking strong!” Stan cried out, angry. “You gave them no choice! There was no way to win your fucking game. They tried so hard!”

Mike shook his head. “Not hard enough, not like you Stan. You did it, you made it.” Stan just shook his head so Mike continued. “It’s better this way Stan, it’s just us now. We won, we were the strongest.” He puffed up a bit, looking back into the room. He could just see the outline of Bill’s body, crumpled and broken.

He thought back to deciding Bill’s room, knowing that he needed to sow early descent among his friends. What better way than to turn everyone against the leader? He knew that otherwise Bill would try to rally them, bring them together. And he couldn’t have that. So he’d set Bill up to fail, giving him a fake room and then forcing him to shoot one of them. His choice was a surprise though, Mike hadn’t expected that, especially the lack of hesitation. He had thought, for a second in the end, that Bill would make it.

But he’d fallen too, he couldn’t regain the trust of his court after that, especially with Ben. It hurt to watch Ben die but he’d known the man wasn’t strong enough, he was too soft.

“We saw your body.” Stan said, breaking Mike out of his thoughts. “We saw your burned body.”

Mike shrugged. “Body doubles are easy enough to find.”

“But you- it doesn’t make sense!” He watched Stan try to connect the pieces and fail. Mike was proud of him, his analytical Stan, always trying to figure things out, to solve the puzzle. He didn’t let his emotions win, that was why he’d survived.

“I’ll explain.” He pointed to a chair. “Sit Stan, you’ve earned it. There’s water in that bottle.”

Stan looked like he wanted to argue but he had been through too much to refuse. “I don’t want your fucking water.” He muttered, though Mike was sure he desperately did.

He fell into the chair, listening as Mike explained. “The Jester is my adopted dad.” He said, letting the words sink in. Stan’s eyes widened and Mike knew he was thinking back to everything he knew about the man. The Jester had been in the papers for murder, always managing to evade the police. “He taught me everything he knew. He’s been training me for this.” Mike didn’t mention how, some secrets were his own. Stan wasn’t ready to hear about the other bodies, the failed experiments that were buried on the farm.

“That’s why you never let us come over.” Stan said, understanding dawning on his face. With this bit of information things were falling into place. Mike was proud of him. He seemed to be listening intently now, no longer things about what he had lost but instead wondering what else Mike would say.

Mike nodded. “Exactly. We had to keep things a secret. He adopted me after my parents died in the fire. It took years for him to trust me, to let me help. But then he did, showing me how to plan something like this, giving me ideas.” Mike had spent many hours with Mr. Gray, planning out all the details and trying to think through all the possibilities. “He wanted this for me. He’s the only one who understands me Stan.”

“You’re both sick.” Stan spat, shaking his head.

“No Stan, you don’t see it yet. He’s a genius, he frees people from their fears, their mundane excuses. I only hope that I can do the same.” When Stan didn’t reply he continued.

“I’ll admit, when I woke up in that room I thought he had turned on me.” Mike said, pausing to collect himself as he thought back to the room, the flames licking at him. He had known real fear then, just like the fear that the others had experienced. “But he rescued me, placing a burned body in there to make it look like I perished.” Mr. Gray had wanted him to understand the fear he was about to inflict, to give him a chance to stop it if he chose. But that taste of fear had only strengthened his resolve. “After that I came here, watching all of you bicker and squabble, watching you fall apart.” It had been easy, really, even though all of them had known each other for years it had been easy to separate them and watch them fall to pieces.

Stan was glaring at Mike. “What now? You kill me?”

Mike shook his head. “I already told you, you’re safe. You can leave.” He gestured to the door, the red exit sign glowing over it. “You can’t tell anyone obviously but you’re free Stan. Or-” He paused, making sure that Stan was listening. “You can join me. Think of what we can do together Stan, how powerful we’d be. No one could stop us.” He watched Stan’s reaction carefully, trying to tell if he was considering it.

“You want me to help you kill other innocent people?” Stan asked, disgusted.

Mike shook his head, disappointed. “Oh Stan, you should know, no one is innocent.”  He hefted the gun in his hand. “What’s your answer?”

Stan scoffed, shaking his head. “How can you ask that? What do you think I am? I’m not a murderer Mike, I could never do that.”

Mike gestured to the other room. “Bill’s cooling body tells a different story.”

“That was different!” Stan protested. “I thought he was-”

“But you were wrong weren’t you?” Mike interrupted. “You made a decision Stan, you choose who would live and who would die. That’s powerful Stan. I want someone like that with me, think of what we could do together.”

Stan’s eyes went to the other room, staring at Bill’s body. Mike could see the gears turning in his head. He picked up the water, taking a long drink. “What would I have to do?” He asked quietly.

Mike tried to contain his delight. “Help me plan, help me find others and give them the same option you had- fight for your shitty life, rise up, or die. I can train you, show you.”

Stan nodded then stood. He walked over to Mike, hand outstretched. A grin stretched over Mike’s lips. This is what he wanted, what he had hoped for. He put his hand out. “You’re making the right choice Stan.”

“I know.” He said, quickly avoiding Mike’s hand and grabbing the gun. Mike didn’t even have a chance to think about it as Stan took a step back and, without hesitation, shot Mike in the stomach. The bullet tore through his flesh and Mike fell to the ground, crying out as pain radiated through him.

“Stan!” He yelled, putting a hand over the wound. It wouldn’t help, there was too much blood, he already knew that it was over. It hurt so much that his vision was blurred. He could barely even see Stan as the other man stood over him, shaking his head.

“Fuck you Mike. Fuck you for killing my friends. You’re the only one who deserves to die in here.”

Mike couldn’t respond. His head dropped to the floor as he faded out of consciousness. The last thing he saw was Stan walking to his mask, considering it for a second before putting it on and walking to the door. He opened it and stood there for a second, finally free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! It's finally done! Only.... over 6 months from when we originally SAID we'd have it done. But it's done nonetheless. 
> 
> Both of us had an amazing time writing this despite the ups and down (waiting literal months between chapters, NEVER taking notes once, you all being so damn smart). Your comments, messages, asks, and general screaming at us was really awesome and we thank every single person who read, left kudos, commented, yelled, and enjoyed this fic in ANY capacity whatsoever. 
> 
> HUGE thank you to Leighwites (aizeninlefox.tumblr.com) for beta reading this for us from start to finish. She had a thousand heart attacks and yelled at us basically every chance she could, but she was amazing and we deeply appreciate everything she is and does for this fandom. 
> 
> Keep an eye on our tumblrs (tinyarmedtrex and reddie-for-anything) for some behind the scenes bullshittery from this fic (trust me... there was A LOT and it's worth reading...........) and any future projects.


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